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SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 


Madeleine  Z.  Doty 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 


BY 


MADELEINE  Z.  DOTY 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


>  i 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1916 


,a^l^. 


-X 


Copyright,  1914,  1915,  1916,  by 
The  Century  Co. 

Copyright,  1916,  by 
International  Magazine  Co. 


Published  September,  1916 


•  :  •    .  •  ,  .  » 


•.• 


<t    I.  ,  •  * 


b  » 


•  •    •  •,  •  •    • 


«     •  CO* 


NOTE  AND  DEDICATION 

It  is  my  pleasant  duty  to  thank  the  good  friends 
who  have  made  this  book  possible.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  the  ready  assistance  of  Mr.  Thomas  Mott  Osborne, 
I  should  not  have  secured  permission  to  spend  my  vol- 
untary days  in  prison,  nor  without  his  example  should 
I  perhaps  have  had  the  courage  to  undertake  the  ad- 
venture. Also  to  my  companion  in  misery,  Elizabeth 
Watson,  who  elected  to  try  prison  life  with  me,  do  I 
owe  much,  and  to  my  friend  Dorothy  Osborne,  whose 
sympathy,  quick  understanding,  and  devoted  service 
to  prison  reform  have  made  her  a  valuable  ally  in 
securing  the  material  set  forth  in  this  book. 

To  The  Century  and  Good  HoiiseJieeping  thanks  are 
due  for  permission  to  reprint  the  papers  originally 
published  in  their  pages. 

And  last  but  not  least  do  I  extend  my  heartfelt  ap- 
preciation to  the  men  and  women  confined  in  Auburn 
and  Sing  Sing  prisons  who  have  laid  bare  their  hearts 
with  reckless  generosity  and  given  of  their  all  in  order 
to  throw  light  on  the  prison  problem  and  improve 
conditions  for  all  men,  women,  and  children  confined 
behind  bars.     To  them  I  dedicate  this  book. 

July  3,  1916,  Sparta,  New  Jersey. 


INTRODUCTION 
By  Thomas  Mott  Osborne 

"  Oh  that  mine  enemy  would  write  a  book," 
was  the  cry  of  the  ancient  teacher,  thirsting  to 
become  a  literary  critic. 

"  Blessed  is  he  that  hath  nothing  to  say  and 
cannot  be  induced  to  say  it "  is  the  cry  of  the 
modern  critic,  reflecting  upon  the  good  old  times 
before  ''  best-sellers ''  dropped  in  a  continuous 
stream  from  our  over-worked  presses. 

The  conclusion  is  obvious :  in  these  days  no 
one  should  write  a  book  who  can  possibly  help  it. 

This  book  is  one  of  those  which  the  author 
could  not  help  writing ;  the  facts  she  has  learned 
must  be  told.  Whether  or  not  the  book  needs  an 
introduction  is  a  different  matter ;  but  Miss  Doty 
has  asked  me  to  write  one  and  as  it  happens  that 
I  have  some  knowledge  of  the  events  and  persons 
described,  it  may  not  come  amiss  for  me  to  bear 
witness  to  the  truths  that  she  has  written. 
•  •••••• 

The  first  of  the  following  chapters  gives  the 

experience  of  Miss  Doty  when  she  and  her  friend, 

Miss  Watson,  spent  a  brief  period  as  inmates  of 

the  New  York  State  Prison  for  Women  at  Auburn. 

I  had  the  privilege  of  arranging  with  the  warden 

for  their  reception  and  I  was  *^  our  host  gazing 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

solicitously  after  us  from  his  car,"  when  they 
started  on  their  adventure.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
my  gaze  was  rather  more  than  solicitous;  for  I 
did  not  altogether  approve,  knowing  through  per- 
sonal experience  something  of  the  nerve-racking 
strain  ahead  of  them. 

The  stay  of  '^  Maggie  Martin  "  in  the  Woman's 
Prison  was  valuable  in  giving  the  Commission 
on  Prison  Reform,  upon  which  Miss  Doty  and  I 
were  both  serving,  a  vivid  impression  of  the  man- 
ner of  treatment  of  our  women  convicts.  It 
brought  home  to  us  the  knowledge  that  the  stupid 
and  brutal  system,  which  was  so  lamentable  a 
failure  in  the  men's  prisons,  was  quite  as  bad,  if 
not  worse,  in  a  woman's  prison. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  ' 

The  second  chapter,  "  Maggie  Martin's 
Friends,"  is  an  even  more  depressing  tale.  It  is 
the  story  of  a  noble  effort  —  the  struggle  of  the 
women  prisoners  at  Auburn,  aided  by  conscien- 
tious friends  from  outside,  to  participate  in  the 
wonderful  movement  w^hich  was  transforming  the 
men's  prison  from  a  hopeless  sink  of  human 
failure  to  a  great  school  of  genuine  reform.  It 
is  also  the  story  of  the  failure  of  that  effort,  be- 
cause of  the  hopeless,  crass  stupidity  of  the  ma- 
trons in  control  at  the  prison,  who  had  the  chance 
of  a  lifetime  to  make  themselves  a  power  for 
good  and  were  too  indifferent  and  too  ignorant 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  "  Against  stupidity  the 
gods  themselves  struggle  in  vain."    The  moral  of 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

the  experience  was  that  without  an  intelligent 
head  no  prison  system  can  be  run  intelligently. 
The  failure  of  the  Prisoners'  League  at  the 
Woman's  Prison  at  Auburn  does  not  reflect  upon 
the  system  or  the  prisoners;  it  does  reflect  seri- 
ously upon  the  officials  whose  duty  it  was  to  co- 
operate. 

•  •••••• 

Of  the  third,  fourth,  fifth  and  sixth  chapters 
I  can  also  speak  with  some  authority,  for  I  know 
most  if  not  all  the  men  whose  stories  Miss  Doty 
has  recorded.  There  can  be  only  one  question 
about  these  stories.  If  what  the  men  say  is  true, 
it  is  high  time  a  more  comprehensive  examination 
was  made  into  our  juvenile  institutions  and  their 
results.  But  is  it  true?  No  one  w^ho  knows  the 
men  and  hears  the  tales  from  their  own  lips  can 
doubt  it  for  a  moment.  It  is  one  great  advan- 
tage of  the  new  prison  system  at  Auburn  and 
Sing  Sing  that  for  the  first  time  our  convicts  are 
willing  to  tell  the  truth.  They  have  told  it  to 
Miss  Doty  under  the  pledge  that  their  confidences 
shall  be  respected ;  and  they  are  pathetically  anxi- 
ous to  "  save  the  kids.'' 

The  facts  are  now  before  the  public ;  what  are 
intelligent  people  in  the  outside  world  going  to 
do  about  it? 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

Regarding  the  seventh  chapter  —  the  case  of 
"  Happy  Jack ''  Mulrany,  I  have  no  first-hand 
knowledge ;  but  if  any  one  can  read  his  pathetic 


X  INTRODUCTION 

letter  without  burning  remorse  for  his  own  share 
in  the  death  of  its  writer,  then  he  has  a  tougher 
conscience  than  I  can  understand.  It  ought  to 
make  some  of  the  believers  in  capital  punishment 
spend  a  few  wakeful  hours  at  night. 

Recall  the  end  of  Stave  Three  in  Dickens' 
Christmas  Carol,  where  from  under  the  robe  of 
the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present  there  emerge  two 
children : 

They  were  a  boy  and  a  ^rl.  Yellow,  meager,  ragged, 
scowling,  wolfish,  but  prostrate,  too,  in  their  humility. 
Where  graceful  youth  should  have  filled  their  features 
out  and  touched  them  with  its  freshest  tints,  a  stale  and 
shriveled  hand,  like  that  of  age,  had  pinched  and  twisted 
them,  and  pulled  them  into  shreds.  Where  angels  might 
have  sat  enthroned,  devils  lurked,  and  glared  out  menac- 
ing. No  change,  no  degradation,  no  perversion  of  human- 
ity, in  any  grade,  through  all  the  mysteries  of  wonderful 
creation,  has  monsters  half  so  horrible  and  dread. 

Scrooge  started  back,  appalled.  .  .  . 

"  Spirit,  are  they  yours  ?  "     Scrooge  could  say  no  more. 

"  They  are  Man's,"  said  the  Spirit,  looking  down  upon 
them.  "  And  they  cling  to  me,  appealing  from  their 
fathers.  This  boy  is  Ignorance.  This  girl  is  Want.  Be- 
ware them  both,  and  all  of  their  degree,  but  most  of  all 
beware  this  boy,  for  on  his  brow  I  see  that  written  which 
is  Doom,  unless  the  writing  be  erased.  Deny  it  I  "  cried 
the  Spirit,  stretching  out  its  hand  toward  the  city. 
"  Slander  those  who  tell  it  ye !  Admit  it  for  your  factious 
purposes,  and  make  it  worse !     And  bide  the  end !  " 

"  Have  they  no  refuge  or  resource? "  cried  Scrooge. 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  ?  "  said  the  Spirit,  turning  on  him 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

for  the  last  time  with  his  own  words.     "  Are  there  no 
workhouses  i '" 

The  bell  struck  twelve. 

These  words  were  written  in  1S43.  seventy- 
three  years  ago ;  and  despite  much  social  progress 
we  are  still  sendins:  our  children  of  l£:norance 
and  Want  to  the  reformatory  and  prison,  to  the 
street  and  the  brothel. 

•  •••••• 

The  last  chapter  deals  with  an  institution  with 
which  I  am  familiar,  *^  The  Little  Common- 
wealth/' Hidden  away  in  a  happy  little  valley 
in  Dorsetshire,  this  charming  little  institution 
has  far  exceeded  the  anticipations  of  its  found- 
ers. In  December,  1910  a  meeting  was  held  at 
the  home  of  Mr.  George  Montagu  in  London,  to 
hear  about  the  Junior  Eepublic  movement  in 
America.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  meetins:  a 
committee  of  three  was  appointed  to  stimulate 
interest  and  see  how  the  Junior  Eepublic  prin- 
ciples could  be  adapted  for  England.  The  com- 
mittee consisted  of  Mr.  Montagu,  Mr.  Cecil  Chap- 
man, one  of  the  London  magistrates,  and  myself 
as  a  ptirelv  honorary  member.  The  movement 
was  very  ably  and  carefully  conducted  and  re- 
suited  in  the  establishment  of  The  Little  Com- 
monwealth about  two  years  later.  I  visited  it  in 
the  fall  of  1913  and  found  it  all  that  Miss  Dotv 
has  described..  The  2:enius  of  Mr.  Lane,  the  sti- 
perintendent,  and  the  sympathetic  understanding 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Montas^u  and  their  friends  have 


X  INTRODUCTION 

letter  without  burning  remorse  for  his  own  share 
in  the  death  of  its  writer,  then  he  has  a  tougher 
conscience  than  I  can  understand.  It  ought  to 
make  some  of  the  believers  in  capital  punishment 
spend  a  few  wakeful  hours  at  night. 

Recall  the  end  of  Stave  Three  in  Dickens' 
Christmas  Carol,  where  from  under  the  robe  of 
the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present  there  emerge  two 
children : 

They  were  a  boy  and  a  girl.  Yellow,  meager,  ragged, 
scowling,  wolfish,  but  prostrate,  too,  in  their  humility. 
Where  graceful  youth  should  have  filled  their  features 
out  and  touched  them  with  its  freshest  tints,  a  stale  and 
shriveled  hand,  like  that  of  age,  had  pinched  and  twisted 
them,  and  pulled  them  into  shreds.  Where  angels  might 
have  sat  enthroned,  devils  lurked,  and  glared  out  menac- 
ing. No  change,  no  degradation,  no  perversion  of  human- 
ity, in  any  grade,  through  all  the  mysteries  of  wonderful 
creation,  has  monsters  half  so  horrible  and  dread. 

Scrooge  started  back,  appalled.  .  .  . 

"  Spirit,  are  they  yours  ?  "     Scrooge  could  say  no  more. 

"  They  are  Man's,"  said  the  Spirit,  looking  down  upon 
them.  "  And  they  cling  to  me,  appealing  from  their 
fathers.  This  boy  is  Ignorance.  This  girl  is  Want.  Be- 
ware them  both,  and  all  of  their  degree,  but  most  of  all 
beware  this  boy,  for  on  his  brow  I  see  that  written  which 
is  Doom,  unless  the  writing  be  erased.  Deny  it !  "  cried 
the  Spirit,  stretching  out  its  hand  toward  the  city. 
"  Slander  those  who  tell  it  ye !  Admit  it  for  your  factious 
purposes,  and  make  it  worse !     And  bide  the  end !  " 

"  Have  they  no  refuge  or  resource  ?  "  cried  Scrooge. 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  ?  "  said  the  Spirit,  turning  on  him 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

for  the  last  time  with  his  own  words.    "Are  there  no 
workhouses  ? " 

The  bell  struck  twelve. 

These  words  were  written  in  1843,  seventy- 
three  years  ago ;  and  despite  much  social  progress 
we  are  still  sending  our  children  of  Ignorance 
and  Want  to  the  reformatory  and  prison,  to  the 
street  and  the  brothel. 

■  •  •  •  •  •  •  • 

The  last  chapter  deals  with  an  institution  with 
which  I  am  familiar,  "  The  Little  Common- 
wealth." Hidden  away  in  a  happy  little  valley 
in  Dorsetshire,  this  charming  little  institution 
has  far  exceeded  the  anticipations  of  its  found- 
ers. In  December,  1910  a  meeting  was  held  at 
the  home  of  Mr.  George  Montagu  in  London,  to 
hear  about  the  Junior  Republic  movement  in 
America.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  meeting  a 
committee  of  three  was  appointed  to  stimulate 
interest  and  see  how  the  Junior  Republic  prin- 
ciples could  be  adapted  for  England.  The  com- 
mittee consisted  of  Mr.  Montagu,  Mr.  Cecil  Chap- 
man, one  of  the  London  magistrates,  and  myself 
as  a  purely  honorary  member.  The  movement 
was  very  ably  and  carefully  conducted  and  re- 
sulted in  the  establishment  of  The  Little  Com- 
monwealth about  two  years  later.  I  visited  it  in 
the  fall  of  1913  and  found  it  all  that  Miss  Doty 
has  described..  The  genius  of  Mr.  Lane,  the  su- 
perintendent, and  the  sympathetic  understanding 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Montagu  and  their  friends  have 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

founded  an  institution  wMcli  is  more  truly 
democratic  in  its  application  of  vital  principles 
to  education  than  any  other  I  know. 

•  •  • 

After  reading  the  book,  you  will  easily  under- 
stand why  Miss  Doty  could  not  resist  writing  it. 
She  could  not  help  calling  upon  the  good  people 
of  this  country  to  ''save  the  kids.''  She  has 
done  so  with  force  and  sincerity ;  and  her  appeal 

will  be  heard. 

T.  M.  Osborne. 

Sing  Sing  Prison, 
August  6,  1916. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PART  I  — IN  A  WOMAN'S  PRISON 

PAGE 

Introduction        ^ 

''Maggie  Martin,  933'' 9 

Maggie  Martin's  Friends ^^ 

PART  II  r- BEHIND  REFORMATORY  WALLS 

Introduction 105 

Why  Can't  a  Kid  Write  to  His  Mother?  .     .  Ill 

Behind  the  Walls 128 

Wanted — ^a  Mother 156 

The  Genesis  of  the  Gang 179 

The  Fate  of  a  Reformatory  Boy      ....  203 
The  Reformatory  that  Reforms      .     .     .     .  227 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Madeleine  Z.   Doty Frontispiece 

Identification  card  of  Maggie  Martin 21 

Tlie  attractive  exterior  of  Auburn  Prison 75 

Would  n't  you  lil^e  to  be  a  foster  mother  to  one  of  these?  113 

Tough  but  interesting 123 

Gambling  —  these  are   the  boys   who   form  the   never- 
ending  procession  to  the  reform  schools     ....  184 

Waiting  trial  —  a  policeman  taking  the  court  record  .     .  143 

After  sentence  —  on  the  way  to  a  detention  home     .     .  154 

Mother  care 163 

When  a  feller  needs  a  friend 174 

Only  potentially  bad,  but  they  are  apt  pupils  of  the 
vicious  boys  to  be  found  in  every  institution    .      .      .  183 

A  group  of  reformatory  boys 194 

A  prison  picture  of  Happy  Jack 211 

A  boys'  reformatory  that  is  like  a  prison.     One  of  the 
institutions  which  Happy  Jack  speaks  of  ...     .  221 

Connie  and  two  of  her  babies 232 

'  The    citizens    build    the    commonwealth    cottages  —  a 

former  judge  at  work 239 


PART  I 
IN  A  WOMAN'S  PRISON 


.-I     > 


i  )       )       11       » 


INTRODUCTION 

Our  whole  penal  system,  the  criminal  law,  the 
courts,  reformatories  and  prisons,  stand  on  the 
eve  of  a  great  revolution.  The  old  system  of 
punishment  which  crushed  and  broke  has  failed. 
Man  by  these  methods  has  been  made  worse 
rather  than  better.  The  released  convict  has 
proved  a  greater  menace  to  society  than  he 
was  before  he  fell  into  the  clutches  of  the  law. 
The  collective  mind  has  awakened  to  the  fact  and 
declared  only  those  methods  which  reform  to  be 
desirable.  If  punishment  has  failed  then  the 
new  system  of  education  must  be  tried.  The 
world  at  last  recognizes  that  law  is  for  man,  not 
man  for  the  law;  that  the  penal  system  is  not 
sacred;  that  law,  where  it  does  not  meet  the 
needs  of  society,  like  all  else,  must  give  way  and 
change.  The  articles  in  this  book  symbolize  the 
change  going  forward.  They  are  not  formal  or 
statistical  but  human.  For  that  is  the  key-note 
of  the  change  —  the  putting  of  humanity  into  the 
law.  Intelligence  of  the  mind  is  nothing  with- 
out that  of  the  heart.    Factories  may  be  run  by 

3 


«■     c    c 
s    <     «: 

r  c     c 


TNIEODUCTION 


rule    of    thumb,    but    individuals    are    remade 
through  the  soul. 

Perhaps  my  own  personal  experience  as  a  law- 
yer well  illustrates  this  general  awakening.  At 
graduation  I  started  forth  like  the  average  young 
lawyer.  It  seemed  essential  to  have  a  beautifully 
equipped  office,  with  rows  on  rows  of  leather- 
bound  books  guarding  the  precedents  of  all  the 
dead  judges  of  all  the  ages.  But  my  bank  ac- 
count was  just  large  enough  to  cover  two  months' 
office  rent.  Then  came  the  idea  of  a  compromise. 
I  would  have  an  office  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  live 
in  a  tenement.  By  day  I  sat  in  leather-bound 
chairs,  handled  leather-bound  books  and  waited 
for  rich  clients.  At  night  I  climbed  five  flights 
of  stairs  over  crying  babies,  despairing  mothers, 
passed  boys  and  men  fallen  into  the  clutches  of 
the  police,  and  on  their  way  to  the  station  house 
for  assault  or  robbery.  And  gradually  a  curious 
thing  happened.  My  days  for  which  all  had  been 
sacrificed  grew  tiresome,  while  the  Eastside  even- 
ings throbbed  with  life  and  fascination.  But 
business  prospered.  Through  the  receivership 
appointments  bestowed  by  a  friendly  judge  there 
was  money  to  make  ends  meet.  But  where  was 
the  satisfaction?    In  the  bankruptcy  cases  when 

4 


INTEODUCTION 

receiver,  attorney,  auctioneer,  and  appraisers  had 
been  paid,  there  was  rarely  anything  left  for  the 
creditors.  It  became  evident  that  the  practice  of 
law  afforded  no  opportunity  for  rendering  jus- 
tice. It  was  merely  a  game,  a  game  between 
clever  men  to  see  which  could  be  cleverest.  For 
such  a  career  I  cared  little.  It  was  the  individ- 
ual, not  the  case,  that  w^as  interesting.  When 
Johnny  Jones  in  the  apartment  below  stole  a 
bucket  of  coal  because  his  mother  and  baby  sister 
were  freezing,  it  seemed  vastly  important  to  go 
to  court  and  explain.  The  law^  said  Johnny  w^as 
a  thief.  But  he  was  n't.  It  w^as  absurd  to  argue 
whether  he  did  or  did  n't  steal  when  the  real  ques- 
tion was  iDhy  did  he  steal.  Then  the  reform 
school  made  Johnny  a  menace.  The  baby  died 
and  Johnny's  mother  went  to  the  poorhouse.  Al- 
together society  paid  pretty  dearly  for  that 
bucket  of  coal.  It  was  evident  dead  judges  and 
musty  precedents  were  not  good  guides.  The 
criminal  law  needed  to  be  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  legal-minded  machines  and  remade  in  the 
image  of  Christ. 

There  w^ere  thousands  of  men  to  practise  law 
according  to  maxim.  Women  lawyers  must 
bring  love,  intelligence  of  the  heart,  into  the  busi- 

5 


INTKODUCTION 

ness.  It  was  then  I  read  John  Galsworthy's 
"  Justice,"  and  a  whole  new  world  opened.  I 
saw  that  courts,  and  prisons,  might  be  dedicated 
to  the  regeneration  instead  of  the  persecution, 
punishment,  and  destruction  of  man.  It  was  no 
longer  possible  to  practise  conventional  law. 
For  four  years  I  worked  with  others  to  remake 
the  Manhattan  Children's  Court.  In  a  few  years 
we  had  secured  a  new  court  building,  five  special 
children's  judges,  twenty  probation  officers,  and, 
most  important  of  all,  a  careful  examination  of 
each  case.  To-day  no  child  is  tried  without  find- 
ing out  the  why  of  the  misdeed.  In  time  the 
criminal  law  for  adults  will  follow  the  same 
course.  But  reformatories  and  prisons  still 
loom  like  black  blots  on  the  landscape.  De- 
linquent children  and  adults  continue  to  come 
forth  worse  than  they  go  in.  Here  and  there 
social  workers  are  making  mighty  efforts  to  re- 
form conditions.  In  externals  they  are  often 
successful.  The  gray,  grim,  barred-in  reforma- 
tory is  frequently  replaced  by  prosperous  farms 
dotted  with  cottages.  Yet  the  percentage  of  re- 
formations is  not  what  it  should  be.  Again  in- 
telligence of  the  mind  is  nothing  without  in- 
telligence of  the  heart.     Lawyers  are  dedicated 

6 


INTKODUCTION 

to  the  law,  social  workers  to  service,  but  the  lat- 
ter  no  more  than  the  former  can  triumph,  when 
regeneration  is  attempted  by  scientific  theory  and 
maxim.     Man  is  not  a  machine.     From  the  chil- 
dren's court  I  turned  to  prison  work.     I  became  a 
member  of  the  Prison  Reform   Commission  of 
which    Thomas    Mott    Osborne    was    chairman. 
When  Mr.  Osborne  spent  his  week  in  prison  I 
knew  that  he  had  found  the  way  to  get  at  the 
heart   of  the  problem.     The  student  of  prison 
problems  needs  to  know  the  prisoner,  his  needs, 
and   aspirations.     That   was   why    I   made    my 
prison  experiment,  not  to  teach,  but  to  learn. 
Those  days  in  jail  throbbed  with  big  moments. 
Never  have  I  felt  so  bound  to  any  group  of 
women.     Cut  off  from  life,  made  an  outcast,  the 
prisoner  feels  for  his  fellows  a  compassionate  af- 
fection that  transcends   common  relationships. 
In  every-day  life  we  grow  selfish  and  hesitate  to 
relinquish  even  a  small  comfort  for  a  friend,  but 
in  prison  no  sacrifice  is  too  great.     Even  punish- 
ment in  the  cooler  is  gladly  accepted  as  the  price 
to  be  paid  for  a  chance  to  do  a  kind  deed.     This 
beauty  of  spirit  is  dazzling.     It  shows  that  with 
the  capacity  for  misdeeds  lies  an  equally  brilliant 
capacity  for  good.     Just  a  little  twist  in  the 

7 


INTRODUCTION 

steering  gear  and  your  gangster  and  gunman  is 
smashing  up  evil  and  figliting  for  riglit  as  re- 
lentlessly as  he  formerly  broke  into  your  houses 
and  stole  your  jewelry.  In  the  two  succeeding 
articles  — "  Maggie  Martin,  933  "  and  "  Maggie 
Martin's  Friends  '■ —  I  have  left  out  all  discourse 
on  penology  and  tried  to  get  at  the  heart  of  the 
problem.  I  have  described  prison  life  as  I  found 
it,  hoping  by  so  doing  to  shed  light  on  a  problem 
so  many  are  eager  to  solve.  If  I  have  demon- 
strated that  real  reform  can  only  be  accomplished 
by,  with,  and  through  the  convict,  I  have  fulfilled 
my  purpose.  Wisdom  to  dispense  justice  comes 
from  a  study  of  man  not  from  a  study  of  law. 

"  Be  not  dishearten'd,  affection  shall  solve  the 
problem  of  freedom  yet. 

Were  you  looking  to  be  held  together  by  lawyers  ? 
Or  by  an  agreement  on  a  pax>er?  Or  by  arms? 
Nay,  nor  the  world,  nor  any  living  thing  will  so 
cohere." 


8 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

"  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933  " 

ON  Monday,  November  3,  1913,  I  awoke  with 
beating  heart.  That  day  was  the  day. 
But  suppose  something  should  prevent  the  ad- 
venture? Then  I  laughed.  To  be  fighting  to  get 
behind  prison-bars  with  as  much  determination 
as  the  man  caught  in  a  misdeed  struggles  to  es- 
cape was  amusing.  A  queer  topsy-turvy  world, 
with  its  continual  battle  for  that  w^hich  is  denied. 
I  jumped  up  and  looked  at  myself  in  the  glass. 
I  wished  I  looked  stronger.  I  knew  the  prison 
warden  and  the  members  of  the  commission  ques- 
tioned my  strength.  They  said  I  might  suffer 
harm  from  the  convicts  for  some  were  colored 
women  of  hard  and  vicious  character,  occa- 
sionally violent,  and  I  must  look  out  for  the 
blows.  A  little  shiver  of  excitement  attacked 
me.  I  was  glad  Elizabeth  was  to  share  my  fate. 
Companionship    breeds    courage.     She,    too,    I 

9 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

could  see,  was  excited.  We  rang  for  breakfast. 
Sitting  in  our  little,  soft,  white  beds,  we  chatted 
and  ate.  It  was  good  to  be  visiting  where  every 
physical  comfort  was  perfectly  cared  for,  only 
it  made  one  soft  and  prison  life  very  unattrac- 
tive. The  deliciously  fragrant  coffee  and  the 
thin,  brown,  buttered  toast  quickly  disappeared 
as  we  speculated  on  what  breakfast  the  following 
morning  would  be  like. 

All  that  day  we  wandered  about  aimlessly  try- 
ing to  curb  our  impatience.  We  visited  moving- 
picture  shows,  and  saw  scenes  of  prison  life  far 
from  reassuring.  We  had  arranged  to  enter 
prison  early  in  the  evening.  A  policeman  was 
to  be  at  the  station  when  the  New  York  train  ar- 
rived and  conduct  us  to  the  prison  as  regularly 
committed  convicts  just  up  from  the  city.  In 
this  way  we  would  hide  our  identity.  With  care 
we  had  constructed  a  criminal  past :  we  were  to 
be  Lizzie  Watson  and  Maggie  Martin,  forgers, 
caught  in  the  same  deal  and  sent  up  for  from  one 
year  and  six  months  to  two  years  and  six  months. 

After  a  gay  little  dinner-party  we  whirled 
down  to  the  station  in  the  electric.  Soon  the 
sound  of  the  whistle  announced  the  train,  and 
we  stepped  out  bravely  across  the  platform  to  the 

10 


"  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933  " 

waiting  policeman.  As  we  passed  out  of  the 
station  and  up  the  street  I  could  see  our  host 
gazing  solicitously  after  us  from  his  car.  All  the 
bright,  cheery  comfort  of  his  home  flashed  upon 
me,  and  the  desire  for  adventure  ceased.  I  was 
glad  it  was  dark  and  that  few  people  passed.  I 
sensed  the  feeling  of  disgrace  this  forced  w^alk  by 
a  policeman's  side,  past  the  high,  forbidding, 
gray  wall,  must  engender.  I  wondered  if  Eliza- 
beth also  was  beginning  to  wish  she  had  never 
come.  Then  we  reached  a  great  iron  gate,  and  it 
opened  and  clanked  behind  us.  In  an  instant 
the  big  outer  world  had  vanished.  We  were  shut 
in  by  a  sinister  gray  mass  with  barred  gate.  A 
sickening  sense  of  impotence  filled  me.  Pride 
said  I  must  go  on,  but  I  was  afraid.  I  had  re- 
duced myself  to  a  wdlMess  thing  that  could  be 
moved  about  at  the  whim  of  unseen  authority. 

What  lay  inside  that  silent  building?  Up  the 
path  with  reluctant  steps  I  journeyed.  Why 
had  I  been  such  a  fool?  Surely  my  knowledge 
of  prisons  did  not  need  this  experiment  to  con- 
vince me  of  their  vileness.  But  my  sensations 
belied  the  thought.  No  written  word  had  ever 
made  me  realize  how  great  may  be  the  fear  of 
what  lies  behind  those  gray  stones  and  barred 

11 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

windows.  Only  once  before  had  I  experienced 
such  a  dread,  and  that  the  day  before  an  opera- 
tion. The  strongest  man  is  shattered  by  horror 
of  the  unknown. 

But  we  had  reached  the  front  door,  and  it  was 
opened,  and  we  were  thrust  inside.  I  heard  the 
policeman  ask  if  he  was  needed,  and  then  he  left, 
and  with  him  disappeared  the  last  friendly  face. 
I  longed  to  clutch  Elizabeth,  but  two  matrons  in 
blue  uniform  and  white  aprons  stood  guard. 
These  women  did  not  speak.  They  had  evidently 
expected  the  arrival  of  two  convicts,  but  they 
gave  no  greeting  aud  made  no  inquiry.  We 
might  have  been  four-legged  animals  or  express 
packages  for  aught  their  expression  showed. 
They  were  curious  and  a  little  fearful.  We  were 
curious  and  vei'y  fearful.  We  gazed  at  one 
another  like  dogs  at  bay.  Having  sized  us  up, 
they  hurried  through  their  disagreeable  task. 
Without  explanation  or  comment  we  were  led 
through  twisting  passages  and  doors.  Then  be- 
gan that  persistent  note  of  prison,  the  locking 
and  unlocking  of  doors,  the  jangling  of  keys, 
which  is  forever  breaking  the  silence  and  beat- 
ing in  on  one  the  knowledge,  "  You  're  locked  in ; 
you  can't  get  out.'' 

12 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

We  passed  down  a  long  corridor  on  which 
were  the  barred  doorways  of  twenty  cells. 
There  was  light  in  the  corridor,  but  none  in  the 
cells,  and  I  wondered  how  many  breathing,  rest- 
less creatures  were  gazing  out.  The  jangling 
of  keys  and  our  footsteps  must  have  told  of  our 
approach.  At  the  end  of  the  corridor  in  a  small 
room  was  a  bath-tub.  Here  the  procession 
halted.  Then  more  jangling  of  keys,  and  a  little 
colored  convict  was  released  to  aid  with  the  task 
in  hand. 

In  utter  silence  the  ceremony  proceeded,  Eliza- 
beth and  I  watching  breathlessly  what  was  to 
happen  next.  A  sheet  was  spread  for  each  of 
us,  and  on  it  we  stood,  taking  off  our  garments 
one  by  one.  It  was  all  like  a  dream.  The  solem- 
nity was  so  great  we  might  have  been  under- 
going an  initiation  into  some  fraternity.  I  had 
an  insane  desire  to  giggle,  but  the  curious  and 
hard  eyes  of  the  matron  were  upon  me.  Besides, 
my  clothes  seemed  to  be  making  no  impression. 
I  had  forgotten  before  entering  to  remove  my 
watch  and  gold  cuff-links,  and  my  long  brown 
ulster  had  just  come  from  London.  Surely  these 
things  would  be  noticed.  Moreover,  only  a  few 
hours  before  I  had  bathed  and  put  on  fresh  white 

13 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

underwear.  But  this  also  roused  no  comment. 
Evidently  many  convicts  on  entering  prison  must 
be  clean  and  well-dressed. 

Then  came  the  bath,  taken  in  public,  with  the 
aid  of  the  little  colored  convict.  Under  di- 
rection, she  scrubbed  and  scrubbed,  we  being 
told  to  keep  hands  off.  Some  one  originated 
the  theory  that  all  convicts  are  dirty,  and  truly 
it  is  on  that  theory  that  the  whole  prison  system 
is  built.  A  convict  means  dirt,  physical,  mental, 
and  moral,  and  is  treated  accordingly.  That 
this  may  not  be  the  case  makes  no  impression. 
I  was  a  convict ;  therefore,  I  w^as  full  of  vermin. 
I  saw  Elizabeth's  head  being  ducked  into  the 
same  water  in  w^hich  she  was  bathedi.  With 
shrinking,  I  begged  to  be  let  off  until  the  morrow, 
pleading  a  headache.  To  my  surprise,  the  re- 
quest w^as  granted.  But  the  next  instant  I  w^as 
told  to  bend  my  head,  and  the  contents  of  a  dark- . 
green  bottle  were  poured  upon  me  and  rubbed  »* 
in.  The  penetrating  and  biting  odor  of  kero- 
sene pervaded  everything.  A  hot  wave  of  in- 
dignation flooded  me.  Two  days  before  my  hair 
had  been  w^ashed  and  waved  and  was  soft  and 
sweet -smelling.  Surely  my  head  might  be  clean, 
even  supposing  I  had  forged  a  check.     But  no, 

U 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'^ 

I  was  a  convict,  and  red  tape  must  triumph  here 
as  elsewhere. 

Only  one  small  towel,  the  size  of  a  table  nap- 
kin, was  given  to  dry  both  head  and  body.  A 
coarse,  white  cotton  night-gown,  clean,  but  old, 
bearing  the  name  of  the  last  wearer,  was  fur- 
nished. Clad  in  this  and  barefooted,  I  was  led 
to  a  cell  and  locked  in.  A  few  minutes  later  I 
heard  the  reassuring  sound  of  the  door  in  the 
next  cell  being  closed  and  locked,  and  I  knew 
that  for  the  night  at  least  Elizabeth  was  my 
neighbor.  I  tapped  on  the  wall  to  make  sure, 
and  immediately  there  came  a  satisfying  answer. 
I  examined  my  bed.  The  mattress  was  covered 
with  stains,  but  the  sheets  were  clean,  though 
coarse.  I  crawled  into  them.  At  first  I  did  not 
notice  the  steely  hardness  of  the  bed.  I  was 
too  occupied  with  my  straw  pillow.  But  the 
mattress  rested  on  iron  slats,  and  as  the  night 
advanced  I  began  to  trace  the  exact  location  of 
every  one. 

My  light  had  been  switched  off,  but  through 
the  bars  the  light  from  the  corridor  filtered  in. 
Whenever  I  opened  my  eyes,  that  barred  door 
obtruded  itself.  It  glared  down  upon  me,  it 
seemed  to  run  up  against  me,  it  haunted  me,  it 

15 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

forever  reiterated  the  fact,  "  You  are  an  animal 
shut  in  a  cage."  The  little  iron  bed,  the  wooden 
stand  in  the  corner,  with  its  basin  and  cup  of 
water,  the  three-legged  stool,  the  yellow  walls, 
the  painted  window  —  all  were  lost  sight  of  in 
the  presence  of  that  barred  door.  That  and  that 
only,  with  the  endless  jangling  of  keys,  became 
the  center  of  existence.  Drawn  by  a  weird  fas- 
cination, I  crept  out  of  bed  and  to  the  door, 
and,  grasping  the  cold  iron,  shook  it.  But  all 
was  secure.  Then  I  pressed  my  face  against  the 
bars  and  listened  breathlessly.  I  could  hear  the 
breathing  of  other  prisoners  and  occasionally  a 
sigh.  What  were  they  dreaming  or  feeling? 
Already  I  knew  the  worst  feature  of  the  prison 
system  —  the  brutal  officialdom  that  treated  hu- 
man beings  as  though  they  were  not  human,  as 
though  they  were  cogs  in  a  machine.  Then  I 
heard  footsteps,  the  jangling  of  keys.  The  night 
matron  was  making  her  hourly  round,  and  I 
scurried  back  to  bed.  Down  the  corridor  she 
came,  pausing  at  doors  to  shake  them  and  jangle 
those  keys,  intent  on  reminding  us  of  our  degra- 
dation and  helplessness. 

All  night  I  tossed  and  turned  on  my  pillow. 
The  kerosene  from  my  hair  had  made  it  sticky 

16 


^^  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'^ 

and  vile.  I  choked  with  the  odor,  and,  seizing 
my  towel,  vainly  tried  to  rub  it  off;  but  it  per- 
meated everything.  Frequently  I  knocked  softly 
on  the  wall,  and  always  there  came  an  answer- 
ing rap,  and  I  knew  that  Elizabeth,  too,  was 
restless. 

A  dirty,  yellow  light  struggled  through  the 
window.  Morning  had  come  at  last.  There 
were  sounds  of  activity  in  the  adjoining  cells. 
A  gray-haired  elderly  matron  in  blue  uniform 
and  white  apron  came  to  my  bars  and  peered  in. 
Her  face  was  lined  and  sour ;  she  uttered  no  greet- 
ing, merely  gazed  at  me  from  head  to  foot,  as 
though  I  were  an  animal  in  the  zoo,  and  re- 
marked: "A  new  one,  eh?  Came  last  night," 
and  then  moved  on.  I  had  a  terrible  sense  of 
injury ;  surely  she  ought  to  see  I  was  n't  a  crim- 
inal. But  perhaps  there  is  no  distinguishing- 
mark. 

The  little  colored  girl  who  had  assisted  the 
night  before  was  moving  busily  about,  helping 
the  matron.  Food  had  arrived,  and  she  was  dis- 
tributing it.  Slices  of  bread  were  left  between 
the  bars  to  be  plucked  off  by  the  inmates.  Then 
later  the  cell  door  was  unlocked  and  a  mug  of 
coffee  and  a  bowl  of  stew  were  handed  in,  all  in 

17 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

absolute  silence.  The  coffee  was  only  dish- 
water, the  stew  chiefly  a  thick  flour  paste.  I  re- 
membered yesterday's  breakfast,  and  contented 
mvself  with  bread. 

After  feeding-time  the  dishes  were  collected, 
and  the  little  convict  took  them  to  the  sink  at 
the  end  of  the  corridor.  I  envied  her  her  task, 
as  I  am  sure  every  inmate  did,  just  to  be  out  be- 
yond the  barred  door  doing  something,  anything. 
The  minutes  dragged  on.  I  had  no  clothes,  so 
I  lay  still.  After  what  seemed  hours,  the  matron 
returned,  this  time  accompanied  by  a  convict, 
laden  with  clothes,  and  the  little  colored  trusty. 
In  the  presence  of  these  three  I  was  ordered  to 
take  off  my  nightgown.  Underwear  many  sizes 
too  large  was  given  to  me,  and  a  heavy,  coarse 
petticoat  of  bedticking,  also  much  too  large,  and 
finally  the  thick,  white  canvas  dress,  frayed  and 
gray  from  washing.  It  was  all  in  one  piece,  but- 
toning tightly  down  the  front.  The  sleeves  were 
much  too  short,  the  collar  too  low.  Anything 
more  unbecoming  and  degrading  would  be  hard 
to  imagine.  It  reminded  me  of  pictures  of  the 
clothes  worn  by  slaves.  A  pair  of  speckled  knit 
stockings  and  heavy,  round-toed  shoes  completed 
my    toilet.     These    shoes    seemed    to    give    the 

18 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

matron  much  pleasure,  for  she  said,  "  See  what 
fine  shoes  you  've  been  given.'' 

I  knew  there  was  no  good  protesting,  but  I 
wanted  to  curse.  Prison  has  a  curious  way  of 
dragging  to  the  surface  all  the  profanity  one  has 
ever  heard.  Nothing  else  seemed  adequately  to 
express  one's  hate  and  indignation.  I  could  hear 
Elizabeth  making  her  toilet.  Once  I  heard  the 
matron's  voice  say :  "  Eh,  there,  git  spry,  git 
spry!  Where  do  you  think  you  are?  "  We  had 
both  been  unmercifully  hurried,  for  we  were 
wanted  in  the  office.  As  we  left  our  cells  I 
glanced  at  Elizabeth.  There  had  been  no  mirror 
to  view  myself,  so  I  was  not  prepared  for  the 
transformation.  With  hair  slicked  back  and 
greasy  from  kerosene,  prison  shoes  sticking  out 
from  a  dress  much  too  short,  she  was  a  ludicrous 
object,  and  I  doubled  up  with  mirth  and  snick- 
ered. Laughter  in  prison  is  a  sin.  The  matron 
turned  on  me  fiercely. 

"Be  still!  Don't  you  know  where  you  are? 
If  ye  hain't  ever  been  in  prison  before,  you  're  in 


one  now." 


I  pulled  myself  together  and  put  my  hand 
over  my  mouth,  but  my  whole  being  shook.  The 
gloom  and  horror  of  the  night  vanished  in  the 

19 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

light  of  the  enormous  comedy  we  were  enacting. 
But  I  did  not  wish  to  go  to  the  cooler,  as  the 
punishment  cell  is  called,  and  with  a  supreme 
effort  I  controlled  myself.  Despite  the  terrible 
rush  in  which  we  w^ere  hustled  into  our  clothes, 
we  waited  for  a  long  time  in  a  hallway  before 
being  called.  We  sat  patiently  side  by  side.  I 
longed  to  lean  over  and  touch  Elizabeth  and 
whisper,  but  our  matron  stood  guard  like  a 
dragon,  and  when  Elizabeth's  eyes  once  sought 
the  floor  to  gaze  at  a  cat,  she  stormed : 

"  Stop    looking    at   that    cat !     Look    at    the 

wall ! '' 

Did  the  system  of  nagging  ever  end?  Was  the 
prison  system  planned  with  the  view  to  filling 
the  heart  with  rage  and  hate?  It  is  unwise  if  so, 
for  prisons  are  emptied  on  an  average  every  five 
years  and  the  inmates  sent  back  into  the  world. 

In  the  office  our  names,  addresses,  names  of 
relatives,  criminal  career,  etc.,  were  taken  down 
in  business  manner.  Then  we  were  returned  to 
our  cells.  In  my  ten  by  six  room  I  found  dinner 
piled  on  my  stool,  though  it  was  only  shortly 
after  eleven.  But  to-day  was  election  day,  and 
a  holiday  for  the  matrons.  Holidays,  periods 
of  rejoicing  for  officials,  are  days  of  torture  for 

20 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'' 

prisoners.  On  these  occasions  and  on  Sundays 
the  convict  is  safely  disj)Osed  of  by  locking  him 
in  his  cell  for  interminable  hours.  I  had  thought 
much  of  election  day,  but  somehow  my  interest 
was  gone.  It  seemed  unimportant  who  was 
elected  mayor.  Only  one  thing  mattered,  those 
gray  walls.  For  this  prison  also  does :  it  makes 
the  convict  center  on  self,  on  his  physical  dis- 
comfort, on  a  barred  door.  It  suppresses  human 
love,  and  robs  life  of  its  value. 

I  looked  at  my  dinner.  A  great  mass  of  coarse 
cabbage  filled  the  plate.  Hidden  under  it  was 
a  piece  of  corned  beef.  It  was  too  revolting  to 
touch.  I  made  an  attempt  at  the  boiled  potato, 
but  it  was  soggy  and  cold,  and  I  gave  it  up.  In 
a  bowl  was  a  quantity  of  apple-butter,  but  this 
was  sour,  and  I  left  it  untouched.  Bread  was 
again  my  meal.  When  the  dinner  things  were 
removed,  we  were  told  to  keep  a  supply  of  bread, 
for  no  supper  would  be  served. 

We  had  no  plates,  so  I  piled  my  three  slices  of 
bread  on  my  stool  and  sat  on  the  bed.  Then 
began  an  interminable  afternoon.  Minute  after 
minute,  hour  after  hour,  dragged  by.  I  paced 
my  floor  and  sat  on  my  bed  and  paced  my  floor 
again.     There  was  not  even  a  Bible  to  read, 

23 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

nothing  to  see  or  do.  Often  I  pressed  my  face 
against  the  bars  and  listened  intently.  Two  or 
three  times  I  heard  the  cooing  of  a  baby.  Such 
a  good  little  baby  —  a  baby  that  never  cried ! 
The  mother  occupied  a  cell  down  the  corridor. 
I  had  seen  her  rocking  and  feeding  her  child  as 
I  passed  her  barred  door  in  the  morning.  Born 
in  prison!  What  a  fate  for  a  struggling  little 
soul  that  had  no  desire  to  come  into  the  world ! 
Once  as  I  stood  at  my  door  I  heard  groans,  then 
a  voice : 

"  I  We  got  the  devil  in  me.     I  can't  stand  this ; 
if  they  don't  let  me  out  soon,  I  '11  smash  things." 
Another  voice  urged  courage  and  gave  assur- 
ance that  to-morrow  they  would  have  to  let  us 
get  the  air  and  walk  in  the  yard.     A  third  asked : 
"Did  you  see  the  new  girls?" 
One  of  the  previous  voices  replied: 
"Yes,  I  saw  them  when  they  came;  they  had 
good  clothes."     Then  one  of  the  former  voices 
said: 

"  But  what  did  their  faces  look  like?  " 

At  this  moment  our  old  dragon  came  tiptoeing 

in,  and  the  whisperers  were  caught.     I  had  been 

on   the   point   of  joining  in   the   conversation. 

Lucky  I  did  n't,  for  later  I  learned  the  penalty 

24 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'' 

inflicted:  three  days  of  close  confinement  in  tHe 
cell  on  a  diet  of  one  slice  of  bread  and  one  gill 
of  water  three  times  a  day ;  in  addition  a  fine  of 
fifty  cents  for  each  day  of  punishment,  and  days 
added  to  the  term  of  imprisonment.  After  this 
excitement  and  the  matron's  departure  there 
was  no  sound.  The  minutes  dragged  on.  I  had 
no  idea  whether  it  was  two  or  six.  I  had  lost 
all  sense  of  time ;  all  was  dull  silence.  And  this 
was  the  place  where  I  had  been  told  people  were 
violent  and  used  obscene  language.  Thus  far 
prisoners  seemed  creatures  but  half  alive,  in- 
closed in  a  living  tomb. 

Occasionally  I  rapped  on  the  wall,  but  the 
answer  was  feeble,  and  this  bothered  me.  Pres- 
ently I  could  hear  that  some  one  was  violently 
sick.  The  sound  was  near.  It  might  be  from 
the  next  cell.  I  could  n't  be  sure.  It  was  horri- 
ble to  be  unable  to  give  assistance.  No  one  could 
give  any  help.  No  one  stirred,  and  no  one  dared 
speak.  Later,  when  the  matron  made  her 
rounds,  she  paid  no  heed  to  the  sufferer,  and 
Elizabeth  went  uncared  for,  for  it  was  she  who 
had  been  ill.  Her  jar  was  not  emptied  until  the 
following  morning.  Jars  used  for  all  purposes 
are  emptied  only  once  a  day,  and  the  small  hand- 

25 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

basin  filled  with  fresh  water  only  once  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  I  had  already  washed  twice  in  my 
basin,  and  the  water  was  sticky  with  kerosene. 
I  did  not  make  another  attempt  that  evening. 
Besides,  I  no  longer  cared  whether  I  was  clean 
or  not.  At  supper-time  basin  and  cup  were  filled 
w^ith  water.  We  had  coffee  in  the  morning,  and 
tea  occasionally  for  dinner,  but  only  this  one 
precious  cup  of  life-giving  water.  I  clutched 
mine  greedily.  Half  should  go  for  supper  and 
half  for  the  night;  my  teeth  must  go  unbrushed. 
Would  the  day  never  end ! 

But  twilight  came  at  last.  I  undressed  and 
went  to  bed.  The  bedclothes  were  heavy  and 
gave  little  warmth,  for  the  blankets  were  made 
of  shoddy.  I  shivered  with  cold.  Once  when 
the  night  matron  made  her  rounds  I  called  softly 
and  asked  for  another  cover.  This  woman,  like 
the  day  matron,  was  old.  She  was  white-haired, 
feeble,  and  very  near-sighted.  She  may  have 
been  a  pleasing  and  venerable  figure  on  Sunday, 
clad  in  her  best,  but  as  a  matron  she  was  a 
failure.  She  met  my  request  for  a  blanket  with 
annoyance.  She  must  n't  be  bothered.  It 
wasn't  her  business  to  do  anything  but  walk 
through  the  buildings.     "  You  should  have  asked 

26 


"MAGGIE  MAETIN,  933'' 

the  day  matron  in  the  daytime  for  a  blanket." 
Through  this  incident  I  learned  the  lesson  all 
convicts  soon  learn:  it  is  wisest  to  suffer  in 
silence,  for  only  suicide  or  severe  illness  compels 
attention.  But  my  request  for  a  blanket  was 
unusual,  and  therefore  troubled  the  old  woman. 
Twice  in  the  night  she  woke  me.  Once  to  say, 
"  You  've  a  wash  rug  on  the  floor ;  use  that  if 
you  're  cold,"  and  the  second  time  to  reiterate, 
"  You  should  n't  ask  me  for  a  blanket ;  you  ought 
to  ask  the  day  matron." 

So  I  lay  and  shivered.  I  was  horribly  uncom- 
fortable, dirty,  hungry,  and  thirsty,  and  my  bed 
grew  hourly  harder.  The  day  had  been  a  horror, 
but  the  night  was  worse.  All  my  innate  ugliness 
rose  to  the  surface.  I  wanted  to  grasp  my  bars 
and  shake  them  and  yell.  I  would  gladly  join 
my  convict  friend  in  a  smashing  orgy  if  they 
did  n't  let  me  out  soon.  I,  too,  had  the  devil  in 
me.  Kebellious  thoughts  surged  in  my  brain. 
What  right  had  man  so  to  abuse  his  fellow-man? 
What  right  to  degrade  him,  to  step  on  him,  to 
ignore  him?  What  right  to  nag  and  browbeat 
until  he  can  no  longer  keep  silent,  and  self- 
respect  flares  up? 

What   wonder  if  prisoners   occasionally   are 

27 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

violent!  It  would  be  marvelous  if  they  did  not 
grow  to  hate  all  mankind  and  come  out  of  bond- 
age bent  on  revenge.  My  heart  ached  with  pity. 
One  thing  at  least  had  been  accomplished:  I 
had  become  in  spirit  a  convict.  I  was  one  of 
them. 

The  third  day  I  awoke  with  dread.  The  end 
of  the  week  seemed  years  off.  I  could  never  stick 
it  out.  I  had  no  idea  of  the  time,  but  it  was  still 
hardly  daylight.  Just  as  I  determined  to  rise 
the  matron  appeared. 

"Why  ain't  ye  up?"  she  demanded.  "You 
should  be  dressed  when  I  come.  And  what  busi- 
ness had  you  to  ask  for  a  blanket?  I'll  teach 
you  yet.  Now  hurry,  make  your  bed,  sweep  your 
floor,  and  be  ready  to  empty  your  jar  when  I  git 
back." 

Like  the  cowed  and  obedient  object  I  had  be- 
come, I  hastily  obeyed.  Active  rebellion  is  rare 
among  convicts.  There  is  one  consuming  desire, 
to  make  good  and  get  out.  The  hunger  for  free- 
dom, the  torture  of  bars,  and  the  dread  of  pun- 
ishment are  so  great  that  only  the  bravest  souls 
refrain  from  lying,  hypocrisy,  the  betrayal  of 
others,  and  the  surrender  of  self-respect  in  order 

28 


«  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933  '' 

to  win  favor  and  shorten  the  term  of  imprison- 
ment. 

I  quickly  despatched  my  tasks,  and  stood 
humbly  at  my  door.  When  the  matron  arrived, 
she  merely  said,  "  Come."  No  instructions  were 
given.  Bucket  in  hand,  I  followed.  Meekly  I 
emptied  the  jar  under  her  watchful  eye.  It  was 
evident  she  awaited  some  blunder,  that  I  might 
be  reprimanded.  The  jar  needed  rinsing.  Spy- 
ing a  faucet  over  a  sink,  I  made  for  it.  At  last 
I  had  committed  an  unpardonable  sin.  The 
matron  was  upon  me  like  a  hawk. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  yelled.  "  That 's' 
where  we  wash  our  dishes.  Hain't  you  ever 
emptied  a  jar?  Hain't  you  ever  used  a  toilet? 
Hain't  you  used  to  any  of  the  decencies  of  life?  " 

For  an  instant  I  was  stunned,  then  my  sense 
of  humor  came  to  the  rescue ;  only,  unlike  yester- 
day, now  I  did  not  dare  show  it.  I  had  become 
subdued.  The  dungeon  rose  before  me.  My 
perspective  was  gone.  I  seemed  a  real  prisoner. 
Fear  had  entered  my  soul.  Patiently  I  listened 
to  a  flood  of  abuse,  finished  my  task,  and  returned 
to  my  cell. 

But  this  day  was  to  prove  eventful,  for  it  was 

29 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

full  of  official  business.  We  were  to  be  bertil- 
loned  and  tben  examined  by  the  doctor,  pro- 
cesses all  newcomers  go  through.  In  the  middle 
of  the  morning  Elizabeth  and  I  with  three  others 
were  summoned  to  the  Bertillon-room,  in  the 
top  of  the  building.  To  be  bertilloned  is  to 
have  your  photograph  taken,  your  hands,  arms, 
and  feet  measured,  examined  for  marks  of  iden- 
tification, and  a  general  description  of  your  per- 
sonal appearance  made.  All  this  is  then  inserted 
in  a  volume  for  the  rogues'  gallery,  and  you  have 
become  a  known  criminal,  easily  identified  by  the 
police.  Just  outside  a  skylight  room  in  the  attic 
we  sat,  one  in  front  of  the  other,  like  children 
playing  choo-choo  cars,  back  to  face,  that  we 
might  not  look  at  or  speak  to  one  another.  But 
I  was  on  the  end,  and  when  the  matron  took  one 
of  our  number  to  the  adjoining  room,  I  faced 
about  and  made  mental  notes.  Elizabeth  was 
back  of  me,  and  near  her  a  dark-haired  girl  whom 
I  shall  never  forget.  Her  mouth  and  eyes  were 
passionate,  her  chin  quivered,  great  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks.  Her  manner  was  gentle,  but 
her  whole  being  alive.  I  wondered  if  she  was 
French.  Why,  I  don't  know,  unless  it  was  the 
grace  of  her  bearing.     I  asked  her  name  and 

30 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

what  she  was  up  for,  the  first  questions  always 
asked  by  one  convict  of  another.  Her  offense 
was  that  which  Elizabeth  and  I  had  chosen,  for- 
gery. I  felt  sure  she  was  interesting,  but  I  had 
no  opportunity  for  conversation. 

According  to  orders,  we  let  our  hair  down  and 
took  off  our  shoes  and  stockings.  We  sat  back 
to  face,  with  our  bare  feet  curled  about  the 
rungs  of  our  chairs  like  naughty  little  girls.  As 
the  little  French  girl  stepped  to  the  Bertillon- 
room  for  her  ordeal,  I  noticed,  with  something 
like  surprise,  her  delicate  foot.  Long  ago  I  had 
discovered  that  beauty  of  figure  and  fineness  of 
manner  are  found  as  often  among  working- 
women  as  among  women  of  wealth,  but  somehow 
I  had  not  expected  refinement  among  convicts. 
That  is  why,  I  suppose,  I  thought  the  matrons 
ought  to  have  seen  I  was  n't  a  criminal,  especially 
when  I  had  on  my  best  manners.  With  startling 
clearness  it  became  apparent  that  there  is  no 
criminal  type,  no  criminal  appearance,  no  crim- 
inal manner.  The  man  who  made  the  Bertillon- 
records  was  not  of  this  opinion,  however,  for 
when  he  finished  my  history  and  looked  me  all 
over  he  remarked  in  a  low  voice  to  his  compan- 
ion, "  All  the  stigmata  of  criminality." 

31 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

I  wondered  grimly  whether  the  joke  was  on 
me  or  on  the  official.  After  all,  the  only  differ- 
ence between  the  criminal  and  the  average  man, 
if  there  is  one,  is  an  exaggeration  of  type.  When 
the  convict  is  not  defective,  he  is  often  nnusual, 
original,  a  variation,  and  therefore  more  prone 
to  be  at  odds  with  conventional  society.  He  has 
greater  force  than  the  average,  and  has  often 
gone  wrong  through  misdirected  power. 

From  the  Bertillon-room  we  went  back  to  the 
ward  to  await  dinner.  That  over  we  put  on  Sun- 
day dress  preparatory  to  a  visit  to  the  doctor. 
This  costume  consisted  of  a  khaki-colored  cotton- 
drilling  shirt-waist  and  skirt,  and  was  very  satis- 
factory. So  arrayed,  I  found  myself  stepping 
out  with  some  importance.  My  head  went  up. 
It  had  been  hard  to  be  dignified  clothed  in  dirty 
white  sail-cloth. 

Again  we  were  summoned  to  the  hall  for 
another  interminable  wait.  But  if  our  time  was 
wasted,  so  was  the  dragon's,  for  no  prisoner  may 
go  about  unaccompanied,  even  though  escape 
from  a  locked  and  barred  building,  surrounded 
by  a  guarded  stone  wall,  is  impossible.  Deco- 
rously we  sat,  eyes  to  the  front,  the  embodiment 
of  meekness,  the  eagle  eye  of  the  matron  upon  us. 

32 


<<  MAGGIE  MAKTIN,  933" 

Presently  a  young  matron,  trim,  pleasing,  and 
efficient,  approached.  She  and  the  dragon  ex- 
changed tribulations,  and  the  story  of  my  auda- 
cious demand  for  another  blanket  was  related. 
I  felt  a  second  Oliver  Twist.  As  the  tale  pro- 
gressed, all  the  pleasing  qualities  of  the  young 
matron  vanished.  She  became  a  hard,  cold, 
glittering-eyed,  vindictive  bully.  She  turned 
upon  me  with  fury.  I  was  threatened  and 
denounced  in  angry  tones,  and  warned  to  re- 
member I  was  a  prisoner  and  entitled  to  no  lux- 
uries. 

Through  it  all  I  gazed  at  the  wall  in  vacant, 
meaningless  stare,  the  proper  prison  attitude. 
Then  came  the  sound  of  many  footsteps.  A 
group  of  prisoners  was  on  its  way  to  school,  and 
must  come  directly  past  us.  At  last  I  should 
see  some  fellow-convicts.  A  short  distance  from 
us  the  little  band  halted,  to  put  on  the  felt  shoes 
they  carried  over  their  cumbersome  leather  ones 
to  deaden  sound.  At  this  crucial  moment  the 
dragon's  voice  broke  the  stillness :  '^  Rise,  and 
face  the  wall."  Elizabeth  and  I  did  not  stir. 
Only  when  the  harsh  voice  rang  out  again,  ac- 
companied by  a  threat,  did  we  understand  and 
obey.     Memories  of  childhood  and  the  old  stand- 

33 


SOCIETY^S  MISFITS 

ing-in-the-corner  punishment  came  to  me.  I  had 
an  overwhelming  desire  to  peek  round  my  shoul- 
der, but  dared  not.  The  company  slowly  filed 
past.  Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  could 
see  Elizabeth,  and  suddenly  the  absurdity  of 
our  position  shook  me  with  silent  and  nervous 
laughter. 

As  we  resumed  our  seats,  the  doctor's  call 
came.  I  went  first.  As  I  entered  the  office,  I 
wondered  whether  the  doctor  knew  who  I  was. 
I  hoped  so,  otherwise  it  might  be  embarrassing. 
But  immediately  I  saw  he  knew  nothing.  I  was 
merely  a  regular  convict.  First  came  the  ex- 
amination of  heart  and  lungs  and  then  questions 
concerning  my  health.  When  the  health-card 
was  disposed  of,  the  doctor  turned  to  my  history. 
I  saw  he  was  interested  in  psychology.  He  was 
very  kindly,  the  only  official  who  had  treated 
the  make-believe  Maggie  Martin  as  a  human  be- 
ing. It  was  difficult  to  make  up  a  past  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment.  I  stuck  to  the  literal  truth 
where  I  could.  Presently  he  began  to  question 
me  about  habits.  I  denied  drinking,  but  ad- 
mitted smoking.  The  doctor  brightened ;  he  felt 
he  was  on  the  track  of  my  downfall.  He  tried 
to  lead  back  to  the  first  cigarette.     I  grew  em- 

34 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'' 

barrassed,  but  this  was  consistent  with  the 
part  I  was  playing.  The  doctor  grew  gentler. 
Finally  he  urged  me  to  make  a  full  confession. 
I  was  fairly  cornered.  I  could  n't  lie  any  longer ; 
he  had  been  too  nice.  In  a  burst  of  inspiration 
I  gazed  shyly  in  my  lap  and  stammered,  "  I  don't 
know  you  well  enough  yet;  perhaps  I  might 
later." 

So  ended  my  interview.  Elizabeth's  turn 
came  next,  and  I  was  worried  lest  she  should 
not  lie  successfully.  To  my  dismay,  when  she 
returned  she  was  weeping.  Had  the  doctor  dis- 
covered her  identity  or  had  he  told  her  she  had 
some  fatal  disease?  But  the  ever-present  matron 
prevented  speech. 

It  was  now  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and 
instead  of  returning  to  our  cells,  we  were  led 
to  chapel.  Once  a  week,  as  a  great  privilege, 
singing  is  permitted  for  an  hour.  Again  my 
hopes  rose  high.  Now  I  would  see  the  inmates. 
But  we  were  placed  in  the  last  row,  and  only 
the  backs  of  the  hundred  and  twenty  women  were 
visible.  Tears  were  still  in  Elizabeth's  eyes, 
and  unable  longer  to  restrain  my  anxiety,  under 
cover  of  singing,  I  managed  to  whisper ; 

"What's  the  matter?" 

35 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

"  Nothing/'  came  the  reply.  "  I  'm  all  right ; 
will  tell  you  later.'' 

After  release  I  found  that  Elizabeth,  like  my- 
self, had  been  urged  by  the  doctor  to  tell  her 
story.  Elizabeth,  endowed  with  a  vivid  imagi- 
nation, had  entered  completely  into  her  part. 
She  had  no  difficulty  in  manufacturing  a  life 
history.  It  was  her  own  make-believe  story  of 
anguish  that  caused  her  to  weep  so  violently. 
She  told  the  doctor  she  was  the  youngest  of  a 
large  family  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  that 
she  did  the  house-work  while  they  all  went  out  to 
earn  their  living.  That  in  consequence  she  had 
no  income,  and  was  unable  to  have  any  enjoy- 
ment. She  had  forged  the  check  to  secure  the 
coveted  good  time.  The  doctor  had  proved  sym- 
pathetic, and  Elizabeth  cried  copiously. 

This  story  is  interesting  because  Elizabeth  is 
the  most  truthful  of  persons;  yet  the  power  of 
suggestion  was  so  great  that  when  a  past  was 
demanded,  involuntarily  she  furnished  one. 
This  fact  may  well  be  a  warning  to  investigators 
in  their  eager  search  for  the  histories  of  de- 
linquents. 

It  should  be  stated  here  that  the  warden  had 
intended  to  take  the  doctor  into  his  confidence 

36 


"  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933 '' 

concerning  Maggie  Martin  and  Lizzie  Watson, 
but  in  some  way  the  matter  had  been  overlooked. 
Personally,  I  am  glad  it  was,  because  the  fact 
that  the  doctor,  a  man  of  intelligence,  failed  to 
detect  us  is  strong  proof  of  how  completely  we 
had  become  merged  in  the  prison  population. 

Reassured  by  Elizabeth  I  turned  to  observe  my 
companions.  Seated  on  high  chairs  around  the 
side  of  the  room  were  the  officers,  so  placed  that 
they  could  see  the  motions  of  every  convict.  I 
did  not  dare  let  my  eyes  wander,  for  already  I 
had  had  a  warning  look;  but  I  saw  with  some 
surprise  that  many  of  the  prisoners  in  my  line 
of  vision  were  good-looking,  intelligent  women. 
A  music-teacher  was  at  the  piano.  The  women 
sang  well,  and  some  with  a  will,  as  though  even 
this  form  of  expression  was  a  relief.  Then  my 
eye  strayed  to  the  song-book.  I  saw  Elizabeth's 
finger  pointing  to  the  words.  With  a  start  I 
realized  we  were  singing 

"  Columbia,  the  gem  of  the  ocean. 
The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  free," 

Has  no  official  a  sense  of  humor? 
At  the  close  of  the  exercises  we  were  told  that 
we  were  to  move  to  another  ward.     I  knew  that 

37 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

the  ward  we  had  been  in  was  a  reception  ward, 
and  that  after  a  time  newcomers  were  sent  to 
other  wards  and  put  at  work.  As  far  as  I  could 
gather,  the  sole  object  of  the  recejDtion  ward  in 
this  prison  was  to  break  and  subdue  the  prisoners 
by  isolation.  Certainly  it  was  not  used  for  the 
purpose  of  observation,  for  no  scientific  study  of 
the  women  was  made.  The  newcomer  was 
merely  isolated,  given  no  work  or  occupation  of 
any  kind,  all  her  meals  were  thrust  into  her  cell, 
and  her  only  resource  was  one  library  book  a 
week.  I  had  experienced  forty  hours  of  such 
confinement,  and  I  shuddered  to  think  of  the 
days,  weeks,  and  sometimes  months  endured  by 
the  average  prisoner.  Such  treatment  in  the 
case  of  a  nervous,  hysterical  woman,  eating  her 
heart  out  with  anxiety,  over  some  family  prob- 
lem, easily  causes  temporary  insanity. 

Our  speedy  release  had  of  course  been  ar- 
ranged in  order  that  we  might  have  the  experi- 
ence of  another  ward  and  the  work-shop.  Ordi- 
narily, I  feel  sure,  I  should  have  been  kept  long 
in  isolation.  Already  I  had  been  spotted  as  one 
to  be  subdued.  I  held  my  head  too  high,  and  my 
smiles,  even  laughter,  showed  a  freedom  of 
spirit  not  to  be  tolerated.     Elizabeth,  with  her 

38 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

tears  and  her  sadness,  was  being  less  rudely 
handled. 

It  was  an  easy  task  to  gather  up  my  few  pos- 
sessions, consisting  of  comb,  toothbrush,  night- 
gown, and  extra  dress,  and  I  was  quickly  trans- 
ferred to  a  ward  in  another  part  of  the  building. 
This  ward,  like  the  first,  had  a  very  broad  cor- 
ridor resembling  a  large  assembly-hall,  off  which 
on  each  hand  opened  the  cells.  At  each  end  and 
in  the  middle  of  this  big  thoroughfare  were  great 
windows  w^hich,  though  painted,  let  in  through 
the  upper  half  a  flood  of  light.  In  the  middle 
of  the  hallway,  in  the  recess  made  by  a  big  bay- 
^dndow,  were  two  long,  wooden  tables.  This 
space  served  as  a  dining-room  for  the  twenty- 
seven  women  in  the  ward.  Down  past  the  rows 
of  cells  I  was  led.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the 
ward,  leading  off  on  the  right  and  left,  were  two 
blind  allevs.  Down  the  one  to  the  left  we 
turned.  Five  cells  opened  on  this  narrow  hall- 
way, and  into  one  of  them  I  was  thrust. 

I  examined  my  new  quarters.  They  were  pre- 
cisely like  the  old  except  that  a  chair  replaced 
the  stool.  But  I  soon  discovered  that  the  new 
cell  was  more  depressing,  for  the  outlook  from 
my  door  was  cut  off  by  the  gray  plaster  wall  just 

39 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

across  the  three-foot  hall  space,  and  I  could  not 
see  as  previously  into  the  big  open  ward.  More- 
over at  the  entrance  to  the  alleyway  I  noticed 
a  large  wooden  door  many  inches  thick,  looking 
like  the  entrance  to  some  great  castle,  which, 
when  closed,  shut  off  this  wing  from  the  main 
corridor.  I  fervently  prayed  it  was  never  pushed 
to.  I  had  been  brought  here  without  Elizabeth, 
and  I  hoped  against  hope  she  would  follow  soon 
and  be  placed  near.  Standing  at  my  door,  I 
heard  sounds  in  a  near-by  cell.  Pressed  close 
against  the  bars,  I  whispered,  "  Hello ! "  In  a 
moment  back  came  an  answer.  Listening  in- 
tently, I  heard: 

"  I  don't  dast  talk ;  I  'm  just  up  from  punish- 
ment.'^ 

But  my  curiosity  was  great  and  my  loneliness 
greater,  and  I  persisted: 

"What  were  you  punished  for?" 

There  was  a  little  chuckle,  a  negro's  chuckle, 
then  came  the  reply: 

"  Well,  child,  I  sassed  the  matron.  I  was  all 
right  until  I  was  bad ;  I  don't  know  why  I  done 
it.  I  just  could  n't  help  it,  and  I  up  and  called 
the  matron  a ." 

Is  one  only  a  lady  when  treated  like  one  ?    Cer- 

40 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'^ 

tain  it  is  that  my  colored  friend's  statement 
filled  me  with  joy.  I  wanted  to  pat  her  on  the 
back  for  her  courage.  My  one  regret  was  that 
this  graphic  language  had  not  been  addressed  to 
our  old  dragon.     Presently  I  ventured  again: 

"How  were  you  punished?"  and  softly  came 
the  answer : 

"  Put  in  the  cooler." 

"  But  what  is  the  cooler  ?  " 

"  A  dark  cell  in  the  basement  where  you  only 
gits  bread  and  water.     I  was  there  five  days." 

Evidently  expressive  language  is  an  expensive 
luxury.  • 

At  this  point  there  was  the  sound  of  many 
footsteps  in  the  adjoining  ward.  The  girls  were 
returning  to  their  cells  for  the  night.  Soon  my 
neighbor  was  taken  out  and  put  elsewhere. 
Vainly  I  waited  for  Elizabeth.  Supper  was 
served  or,  rather,  tea  was  passed.  Bread  had 
already  been  left  in  our  rooms.  To  my  joy,  I 
was  given  a  small  can  of  milk  by  the  doctor's 
order.  I  had  told  him  I  could  not  eat.  It  was 
good  he  had  come  to  my  rescue,  for  I  was  finding 
a  diet  of  bread  and  water  wholly  inadequate. 

The  nightly  supply  of  water  was  passed  from 
cell  to  cell  by  a  very  tall  colored  w^oman  who 

41 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

measured  at  least  six  feet.  I  soon  discovered 
that  her  cell  was  next  to  mine.  She  and  I  were 
the  sole  occupants  of  what  might  be  termed  the 
servants'  quarters  of  the  main  ward.  I  tried  to 
reconcile  mvself  to  Elizabeth's  absence,  but  I 
grew  uneasy.  The  one  redeeming  feature  was 
the  new  matron.  She  was  a  good-looking,  mid- 
dle-aged woman,  vastly  more  human  than  our 
old  dragon.  She  treated  us  like  a  bunch  of  chil- 
dren, and  laid  down  the  law  with  a  mighty  hand. 
But  her  voice,  though  dictatorial,  was  not  harsh. 
Freed  from  a  system  which  demanded  that  all 
prisoners  be  treated  indiscriminately  as  the  vile 
drainage  of  society,  she  might  have  blossomed 
into  an  effective  person.  She  stopped  at  my  door 
long  enough  to  give  directions,  and  said  if  I  did 
not  talk  and  behaved,  there  would  be  no  trouble. 
Then  she  departed,  and,  to  my  despair,  closed 
the  massive  door.  My  colored  friend  and  I  were 
alone  in  our  fortress. 

There  was  still  light  outside.  It  could  not 
have  been  more  than  five.  Time  in  prison  is  an 
uncertain  quantity.  It  has  to  be  guessed  by  the 
occurrence  of  daily  events.  What  should  I  do 
until  morning?  The  fourteen  long  hours  to 
breakfast  seemed  monumental.     Should  I  go  to 

42 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'' 

bed?  But  I  could  not  sleep  all  that  time.  How- 
ever, I  was  cold,  my  cell  had  no  heat,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do.  From  the  next  cell  came 
the  sound  of  splashing,  and  I  knew  my  neighbor 
was  preparing  for  the  night.  I  had  just  gotten 
under  the  covers  when,  hearing  whispers,  I  hur- 
ried to  the  door. 

"  Say,  what 's  your  name?  "  came  the  voice. 
"  Maggie  Martin.     What 's  yours?  " 
"  Minerva.     I  don't  dast  to  talk  now,  but  when 
the  night-watch  is  on  I  '11  come  to  you." 
"  Come  to  me?     How  can  you  come  to  me?  " 
"  I  mean  I  '11  come  to  the  door  and  talk." 
"  Before  you  go,"   I  pleaded,   "  tell   me   one 
thing.     Do  you  know  where  my  friend  Lizzie 
is?" 

"The  other  new  girl?  She  is  in  a  transom 
like  this  on  the  other  side  of  the  ward." 

Here  conversation  ceased,  but  at  least  I  knew 
Elizabeth's  whereabouts.  I  crept  back  to  bed. 
It  had  grown  dark.  I  turned  on  the  light.  I 
had  been  told  to  leave  it  on,  as  all  lights  are 
switched  off  at  nine.  If  I  put  it  out  earlier,  I 
would  have  to  get  up  in  the  night  and  turn  back 
the  button  so  that  in  the  morning,  when  the 
electricity  was  switched  on,  again  it  would  not 

43 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

flare  out  and  waken  me.  It  was  a  poor  little 
light,  wholly  inadequate  for  reading;  but,  then, 
I  had  nothing  to  read.  However,  I  had  no  desire 
for  darkness,  for  the  isolation  of  the  place  was 
gruesome.  I  lay  staring  at  the  electric  bulb  and 
pondered.  Suppose  there  was  a  fire,  or  Minerva 
was  taken  sick  or  attempted  suicide.  What 
could  I  do?  No  sound  w^ould  penetrate  that 
wooden  door.  I  imagined  the  scurrying  for  keys 
and  the  time  needed  to  unlock  the  ward  door, 
then  the  wooden  portal,  and  last  the  barred  door 
of  the  cell.  It  would  be  much  too  complicated  in 
a  sudden  fire.     No  one  would  bother  with  us. 

It  was  very  depressing.  I  tossed  on  my  bed. 
Would  nine  o'clock  never  come?  Thank  good- 
ness for  Minerva!  Far  from  fearing  her  as  one 
of  those  vicious  colored  criminals  whom  I  had 
been  warned  against,  her  companionship  was  the 
one  ray  of  comfort.  At  last,  when  it  seemed  as 
though  it  might  be  midnight,  the  hall  door  was 
flung  open,  and  the  gray-haired  night  matron, 
with  jangling  of  keys,  came  trudging  down  the 
alley.  Never  was  sound  so  welcome.  Having 
assured  herself  that  we  were  alive,  she  hastened 
on.  To  my  joy,  she  left  our  castle  entrance  open. 
I  learned  from  Minerva  that  she  did  this  to  save 

44 


''  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933  " 

trips  down  our  way,  and  that  it  w^as  safer  to  talk 
with  the  door  open,  for  the  footsteps  gave  warn- 
ing of  danger.  When  the  door  was  closed,  and 
she  opened  it  noiselessly,  transgressors  were  in- 
evitably caught. 

Minerva,  true  to  her  word,  now  undertook  to 
comfort  me.  We  exchanged  ages  and  crimes  and 
dwelt  on  the  horror  of  prison.  Then  Minerva, 
feeling  further  conversation  undesirable  without 
greater  knowledge,  began  a  series  of  questions 
prefaced  by  a  statement : 

"  I  'm  a  sportin'  lady ;  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  meekly. 

"  Are  you  married  or  single?  '^ 

"  Single." 

"  Do  you  write  to  your  mother?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right,  kid ;  don't  you  worry." 

So  concluded  the  catechism.  Then  I  tried  to 
draw  Minerva  out,  but  failed.  My  fate  was 
sealed.  Having  skilfully  placed  me,  and  find- 
ing I  was  not  of  the  streets,  but  an  innocent  thing 
from  home,  I  was  not  to  be  polluted  by  bad 
stories;  rather,  I  was  to  be  protected.  Conver- 
sation languished.  Minerva  ordered  me  back  to 
my  bed.     Soon  we  had  settled  down,  but  not  to 

45 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

sleep.  All  night  I  heard  Minerva  sighing  and 
groaning.  She  had  confessed  to  the  morphine 
habit.  I  wondered  whether  she  suffered  greatly. 
Sleep  for  me  seemed  impossible.  Prison  had 
begun  to  grow  in  on  me.  I  could  no  longer  take 
things  lightly.  The  hopelessness,  the  dreariness, 
the  ugliness  of  the  life  preyed  upon  me.  But  if 
I  could  not  sleep,  neither  could  many  of  the 
others.  Faintly  from  the  ward  came  coughs  and 
groans  all  night  long.  Only  when  the  jangling 
of  keys  and  the  hourly  rounds  began  did  the 
sounds  cease.  If  mankind  had  been  able  to  un- 
cover that  building  and  see  into  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  those  convicts,  what  a  sink  of  despair 
of  aching  and  bleeding  hearts,  cursing  their  God 
and  their  fellow-men,  would  have  lain  ex- 
posed ! 

At  the  first  peep  of  dawn  on  Thursday  I  was 
stirring.  I  ached  with  fatigue  from  a  night  of 
unrest  on  the  hard,  uneven  bed.  It  Avas  chilly,  a 
cold  November  day,  and  there  was  no  heat  in  the 
big  stone  building.  Yet  I  longed  for  fresh  air, 
and  climbing  to  the  window-ledge  and  pulling 
myself  to  the  small,  open  space  at  the  top,  I  drank 
in  the  morning  freshness.  I  yearned  for  sight 
of  the  blue  sky  and  tried  to  scratch  the  paint 

46 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

from  the  window ;  but  it  was  useless.  The  paint 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  glass.  Then  I 
searched  for  a  peep-hole,  and  finding  a  paintless 
spot  the  size  of  a  glove-button,  I  placed  my  eye 
at  this.  My  reward  was  a  glimpse  of  the  yard 
and  high  stone  wall.  Discouraged,  I  jumped 
down,  and  struggled  through  a  sponge  bath  in 
my  scant  quart  wash-basin.  In  the  hot,  per- 
spiring summer  days  this  daily  dash  of  water 
must  have  been  tantalizing.  As  I  w^as  finishing 
my  toilet,  I  heard  the  steps  of  the  day  matron. 
She  paused  at  our  blind  alley,  and  then  in  com- 
manding tones  came  the  order : 

"  Maggie,  stick  your  arm  out."  I  hurried  to 
my  door,  vainly  speculating  on  what  w^as  ex- 
pected. Then  came  further  instructions :  "  Stick 
your  arm  through  the  bars  so  I  see  it.  You  must 
do  this  every  morning  when  you  hear  me."  So 
that  was  the  way  she  ascertained  whether  I  was 
dead  or  alive  without  the  trouble  of  examining. 
Presently  we  w^ere  ordered  out  into  the  ward 
corridor,  and  formed  in  line.  My  eye  caught 
Elizabeth's,  but  gave  no  sign  of  recognition. 
We  had  already  learned  one  of  the  many  un- 
written prison  rules,  which  is  that  any  form  of 
greeting  between  inmates  is  considered  immoral, 

47 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

evidence  of  what  is  termed  "lady  love/'  and 
promptly  punished. 

In  grim  silence  we  filed  to  the  table  in  the 
alcove.  I  noticed  w^ith  interest  that  Elizabeth 
was  seated  between  two  powerful  colored  women. 
Elizabeth  comes  from  the  South,  and  has  race 
prejudices.  Will  these  survive,  or  will  she  lose 
all  race  consciousness,  as  I  have  with  Minerva, 
and  feel  only  a  sense  of  companionship,  the  kin- 
ship of  a  common  cause? 

In  tense  silence  we  ate.  Breakfast  is  literally 
shoveled  down,  for  the  time  allowed  is  the  short- 
est possible.  I  could  eat  nothing.  It  was  the 
same  unpalatable  stew  and  coffee,  and  the  on- 
slaught of  the  hungry  women  disgusted  me.  Yet 
as  I  stole  glances  at  my  companions,  I  noticed 
the  neat  hair  and  the  clean  hands  even  when 
those  hands  were  worn  with  toil,  and  I  was  aware 
that  the  lack  of  table  manners  was  chiefly  due 
to  want  -  of  time  and  pressing  hunger.  The 
hunger  theory  was  soon  verified,  for  when  we 
were  back  in  our  cells  and  the  matron  had  gone 
to  her  breakfast,  Minerva  whispered : 

"  Say,  Maggie,  if  you  don't  eat,  give  it  to  me." 
I  eagerly  promised. 

Again  we  had  been  left  in  our  cells  with  noth- 

48 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

ing  to  do.  At  about  eight,  nearly  an  hour  later, 
we  were  released,  and  again  formed  in  line. 
Always  there  was  the  same  grim  silence.  Mi- 
nerva was  tallest,  and  led  us.  Next  to  her 
came  "  Lizzie,"  while  I  was  well  toward  the 
middle.  Slowly  we  marched  down-stairs  and 
into  the  workshop,  where,  with  hands  folded,  we 
sat  at  long  tables.  For  five  or  ten  minutes  we 
sat  thus,  abject  and  patient,  then  a  bell  rang, 
and  we  were  told  to  put  on  rubbers  and  capes. 
Somehow  the  luxury  of  rubbers  seemed  incon- 
gruous, in  view  of  the  many  hardships,  yet  per- 
haps because  they  were  a  luxury  the  women  took 
pride  in  their  possession.  Now  we  filed  out  into 
the  prison  yard  clad  in  our  little  black  capes, 
which  came  scarcely  below  the  waists  of  our 
clumsy  white  wrappers.  Upon  our  heads  we 
wore  a  knitted  woolen  head-piece  called  by  some 
strange  freak  of  absurdity  a  "  fascinator."  We 
resembled  a  group  of  dejected  little  orphans  sud- 
denly grown  old  as  round  and  round  the  yard  we 
marched. 

It  was  with  a  great  sense  of  rejoicing  that  I 
felt  the  fresh  morning  air  in  my  face  and  saw 
the  blue  sky  overhead.  I  quickened  my  step, 
and  I  noticed  that  Minerva,  with  head  erect,  was 

49 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

striding  forward  with  the  power  and  freedom 
of  some  Greek  goddess.  I  saw  Elizabeth's  arms 
begin  to  swing  in  rhythm  with  her  body,  but 
only  for  a  moment;  for  an  ever-watchful  ma- 
tron's eye  was  upon  her,  and  she  was  directed  to 
fold  arms,  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  path,  and 
stop  jerking. 

Under  this  dreary  regime  the  joy  of  exercise 
vanished  as  round  and  round  we  went  in  rigid 
order  and  forlorn  silence.  On  three  sides  rose 
the  red  brick  walls  of  the  building,  while  on  the 
fourth  was  the  stone  wall  shutting  out  the  world. 
The  path  ran  round  a  struggling  grass-plot  over 
which  hung  the  clothes-lines.  It  was  all  sordid 
and  ugly.  The  spirit  grew  weary.  By  the 
time  the  fourteenth  round  was  reached,  one 
would  give  a  kingdom  to  turn  about  face  and 
walk  in  the  opposite  direction. 

At  last  the  half-hour  was  up,  and  we  were 
ordered  back  to  the  shop.  I  promptly  attempted 
to  sit  next  to  Lizzie,  but  that  w^as  not  permitted. 
Part  of  prison  discipline  is  to  separate  friends, 
and  I  was  placed  at  the  extreme  other  end  of  the 
work-table.  I  saw  with  pleasure  that  Minerva 
sat  just  opposite  Elizabeth.  Our  task  was  hem- 
ming  heavy,    red   blankets.     At    another    long 

50 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'' 

table  women  were  picking  cotton.  The  dust 
from  this  rose,  and  filled  the  room,  causing  great 
discomfort  and  coughing.  A  few  women  were 
making  mattresses,  and  there  were  some  hand 
sewing-machines  and  three  old  foot  looms.  This 
was  the  extent  of  the  industrial  equipment. 

There  were  fifty  of  us  in  the  workroom,  with 
three  matrons  keeping  guard.  They  sat  at  high 
desks,  glaring  and  silent,  ready  to  scold  or  to 
punish  if  hand  flagged  or  eye  wandered.  There 
was  a  big  clock,  and  I  watched  the  minutes  drag 
by.  But  release  came  long  before  expected. 
At  ten  o'clock  Ward  VII  was  ordered  back  to 
their  cells.  I  rose,  and  followed  my  compan- 
ions. What  was  to  happen?  No  less  momen- 
tous event  than  the  weekly  bath.  All  work 
stopped;  a  morning  was  sacrificed  to  this  task 
when,  morning  and  night,  prison  life  abounded 
in  idle  hours.  Locked  in  our  cells,  we  were 
brought  forth  one  at  a  time,  and  scrubbed  by 
the  colored  convict  trusty  in  the  presence  of  the 
matron.  Each  individual  bath  takes  only  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  the  dreary  hours  to  dinner- 
time must  be  spent  in  lonely  idleness.  The 
whole  prison  life  is  a  hotbed  of  such  gross  mis- 
management. 

51 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

The  system  is  based  on  stupidity  and  igno- 
rance. If  half  the  common  sense  devoted  to 
business  were  expended  on  prisons,  the  physical, 
if  not  the  spiritual,  aspect  of  these  institutions 
would  be  transformed  in  a  day.  As  it  is,  hun- 
dreds of  working  people  are  given  into  the  State's 
care,  and  are  taught  nothing,  produce  nothing, 
are  ill  housed  and  ill  fed,  and  their  time  and  that 
of  the  guards  or  keepers  is  wasted.  The  result 
is  an  organization  w^hich  manufactures  crimi- 
nals, and  is  maintained  at  great  cost  to  the  State. 
I  begged  off  from  a  bath  on  the  score  that  I  had 
had  one  the  day  before,  when  changing  w^ards. 
The  rapid  immersion  of  one  person  after  another, 
in  the  same  tub,  with  no  proper  facility  for 
cleansing,  did  not  seem  hygienic  or  sanitary. 
Once  a  week,  along  with  the  bath  orgy,  clean 
underwear  is  furnished,  and  from  these  the  new- 
comer must  rip  off  the  name  of  the  last  wearer, 
replacing  it  with  her  own. 

I  had  finished  labeling  my  garments  with 
^^  Maggie  933 ''  when  I  heard  the  matron  ask 
Lizzie  to  sew  labels  on  the  dirty  wash  rugs  of 
the  cells,  that  they  might  be  sent  to  the  laundry. 
But  Lizzie  was  busy  with  her  clothes,'  and  I 
darted  forward  to  claim  the  privilege.     For  it 

52 


"MAGGIE  MAETIN,  933'^ 

was  a  privilege  to  sit  in  the  open  ward  with 
something  to  do,  even  though  the  dirty  rugs 
were  nasty  to  handle.  Even  so  small  a  diver- 
sion as  this  is  precious,  and  I  found  that  others, 
like  myself,  were  eager  for  such  duties.  Keen 
rivalry  existed  for  the  privilege  of  scrubbing  the 
floor. 

At  a  quarter  of  twelve  we  had  lunch  in  the 
alcove.  There  was  the  same  speedy  despatch  of 
the  same  pasty  stew.  Then  came  an  hour  in  the 
cells,  and  at  one  another  dismal  half-hour's 
march  in  the  yard.  At  one-thirty  we  sat  silently 
over  our  tasks.  I  made  various  experiments. 
First  I  sewed  fast  and  then  slow;  sometimes  I 
hemmed  well  and  then  ill.  But  all  brought  no 
comment,  as  long  as  one's  fingers  were  busy  and 
eyes  to  the  front.  To  work  faithfully  for  a  State 
that  ill-treats  and  ignores  one  is  no  satisfaction. 
Nor  is  the  cent  and  a  half  a  day  that  one  rarely 
receives  an  incentive.  The  total  of  this  large 
wage  for  a  year  is  five  dollars,  but  as  a  fine  of 
fifty  cents  a  day  for  each  day  of  punishment  is 
imposed,  it  is  seldom  a  prisoner  has  any  funds 
on  release,  even  after  a  long  term.  Car-fare 
and  the  ten  dollars  furnished  by  the  State  are 
usually  the  capital  with  which  the  ex-convict 

53 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

must  face  the  world,  with  small  chances  of  se- 
curing employment. 

So  we  stitch,  stitch,  stitch,  ancl  sigh,  sigh, 
sigh,  and  do  as  little  as  we  can,  and  move  our 
feet  silently,  but  restlessly.  Visitors  come,  and 
we  steal  glances  from  under  half-closed  lids. 
We  dare  not  look  up,  though  we  fain  would  see 
these  well-dressed  and  happy  human  beings. 
The  bent  head  and  the  downcast  eye  encountered 
by  the  prison  visitor  are  due  not  to  shame,  but  to 
fear  —  fear  that  a  smile  or  a  glance  will  be 
punished.  The  average  convict  is  as  completely 
cut  off  from  communication  with  mankind  as 
though  he  were  buried  six  feet  underground. 
His  one  letter  a  month  to  the  outer  world  is  in- 
spected and  he  dare  make  no  complaint.  His 
one  visitor  a  month  must  be  seen  in  the  presence 
of  a  guard  or  keeper,  and  he  dares  tell  of  none 
of  the  prison  miseries.  The  few  brave  souls  who 
have  spoken  have  frequently  suffered  torture 
from  keeper  or  guard.  It  is  a  cruel  thing  to  give 
one  man  unlimited  power  over  another  whom 
we  have  rendered  helpless.  It  is  like  giving  a 
cat  a  mouse  to  play  with.  Human  beings  can- 
not wield  supreme  control  without  degenerating 
into  tyrants. 

54 


"  MAGGIE  MAETIN,  933  '' 

But  at  last  it  was  four-thirtv,  and  the  one 
event  of  the  day  was  at  hand.  For  ten  minutes 
the  barrier  of  silence  was  broken,  and  intercourse 
was  i3ermitted.  But  even  these  precious  minutes 
were  robbed  of  their  joy,  for  a  matron,  with  ear 
alert,  listened  to  every  word,  and  the  friend  with 
whom  one  would  talk  was  placed  at  a  distance. 
I  longed  to  know  how  Elizabeth  felt.  Her  face 
was  white  and  drawn.  Did  she  want  to  leave? 
But  if  I  could  not  inquire,  I  had  at  least  bested 
the  authorities  by  sending  a  secret  message 
through  Minerva,  who  now  sat  next  her.  In  a 
stolen  conversation  with  Minerva  I  begged  her 
to  ask  Lizzie  how  she  was,  and  whether  she 
thought  we  would  be  called  out  as  witnesses  on 
Friday  or  Saturday?  The  fiction  that  we  were 
to  return  to  the  city  as  witnesses  in  a  case  had 
been  decided  on  as  the  best  way  to  avert  sus- 
picion when  we  made  a  sudden  departure.  I 
saw  Minerva  and  Lizzie  in  earnest  conversation, 
and  I  knew  I  should  have  my  answer  that 
night. 

I  turned  to  my  companions,  but  they  were  as 
sleepers  suddenly  awakened,  and  utterance  came 
slowly.  To  be  commanded  to  talk,  and  to  know 
that  in   a  few  short  moments  you   would  be 

55 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

stopped,  makes  speech  halting  and  awkward. 
There  is  so  much  to  say,  and  so  little  time.  I 
noticed  opposite  me  a  round-faced,  good-looking, 
good-natured  young  Irish  girl,  and  I  tried  to 
draw  her  out.  This  was  her  first  experience  of 
prison  life,  as  her  young,  carefree  face  showed. 
She  had  only  a  few  more  weeks  to  serve,  and 
was  counting  the  days  till  her  release.  She  gave 
me  some  scraps  of  history  of  some  of  the  others, 
but  the  matron  was  straining  every  nerve  to 
hear,  and  we  grew  silent.  We  had  hardly  begun 
before  a  bell  rang,  and  the  moments  of  respite 
were  over. 

That  evening  I  could  not  even  eat  my  bread ; 
it  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  prison  odor.  How- 
ever, it  was  not  wasted,  for  all  uneaten  bread 
was  gathered  up  and  reserved  for  the  next  meal, 
a  splendid  method  of  transmitting  disease.  I 
had  not  yet  had  my  message  from  Elizabeth,  but 
that  must  wait  until  the  night-w^atch  made  whis- 
pering safe.  To-day  more  than  ever  the  horror 
of  prison  life  had  laid  hold  of  me.  My  endur- 
ance was  at  an  end.  I  decided  not  to  wait  for 
my  message,  but  to  seek  relief  at  once.  As  the 
matron  left  for  the  night  I  asked  permission  to 
write  to  the  warden.     To  my  consternation,  my 

56 


"  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933  " 

request  was  denied,  and  I  was  told  that  notes 
could  be  written  only  in  the  workshop  in  the 
morning.  Then  indeed  I  was  a  true  prisoner ;  no 
power  I  could  exert  would  release  me  before 
morning.  To  tell  the  matron  I  was  a  prison  com- 
missiouer  would  be  foolish.  She  would  merely 
think  me  crazy,  and  clap  me  forthwith  into  the 
cooler  as  in  need  of  restraint. 

To  be  so  utterly  helpless  was  keenly  disturb- 
ing. It  required  all  the  will  I  possessed  not 
to  make  some  desperate  move  for  liberty.  But 
visions  of  the  punishment  cells  rose  to  confront 
me.  My  fear  was  great,  and  I  did  nothing. 
Vainly  I  tried  to  calm  myself.  I  trudged  up  and 
down  my  room,  and  every  second  my  need  of 
freedom  increased.  Now  that  I  knew  there  was 
no  escape,  imprisonment  was  not  to  be  borne; 
my  nerve  was  giving  away.  This  would  never 
do.  Long  before  nine  and  the  opening  of  the 
wooden  portal,  I  was  whispering  to  Minerva, 
and  she  told  me  that  Lizzie  thought  we  should 
be  called  out  as  witnesses  on  Friday,  and  I  real- 
ized that  Elizabeth,  like  myself,  had  had  all  she 
could  stand.  I  invented  excuses  to  keep  Minerva 
talking,  so  much  I  dreaded  solitude ;  but  she  was 
fearful,  and  begged  for  caution. 

57 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

Sleep  had  become  impossible.  I  went  to  bed 
only  to  jump  up  again  and  pace  back  and  fortb 
and  cling  to  my  bars.  I  began  to  have  the  hor- 
rible sensation  that  I  had  been  trapped,  that  my 
prison  adventure  was  a  scheme  to  lock  me  up 
for  life.  I  imagined  my  friends  so  busy  with 
their  affairs  that  they  had  forgotten  and  for- 
saken me.  I  foresaw  that  the  prison  authorities 
would  accept  no  explanations.  I  should  merely 
be  considered  another  criminal  gone  "  dippy  "  or 
"  bughouse/'  as  prisoners  call  it  when  they  lose 
mental  control. 

I  pulled  myself  together  with  a  start;  I 
realized  that  I  was  on  the  verge  of  a  breakdown. 
If  ordinary  prison  life  could  have  this  effect,  it 
was  lucky  I  had  not  sought  punishment  in  the 
cooler.  The  tales  of  its  horrors  rushed  to  my 
mind.  I  saw  and  felt  the  dark,  windowless  cell 
in  the  basement,  which  contained  naught  but  a 
bag  of  straw.  Into  this  damp,  isolated  dungeon 
the  quivering,  despairing  human  being  is  thrust, 
and  when  the  victim  grows  hysterical,  there  is  a 
canvas  straight- jacket,  in  which  she  is  strapped 
and  left  to  lie  on  the  floor,  and  then  in  the  dark 
watches  of  the  night,  horror  of  horror,  mice  and 
rats  issue  from  their  hiding  to  play  about  the 

58 


"  MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933  " 

prostrate   body.    Little   shudders   ran   up   and 
down  my  spine. 

I  was  glad  my  light  still  burned  and  that  oc- 
casionally I  could  hear  Minerva  cough;  but  at 
nine  the  lights  went  out.  Would  the  night  never 
end?  I  imagined  I  heard  groans.  The  girls  in 
the  ward  over  the  punishment  cells  said  they  fre- 
quently heard  cries.  I  must  not  give  way,  and 
with  sternness  I  set  my  mind  to  the  task  of  con- 
trolling my  body. 

An  hour  or  so  had  slipped  by  when  I  was  sud- 
denly waked  from  a  nap  by  groans  that  were  not 
imaginary.  It  was  Minerva.  There  could  be 
no  doubt.  In  increasing  anguish,  her  distress 
mounted  and  sobs  broke  from  her.  I  was  at  my 
door,  but  what  could  I  do?  I  whispered,  but  she 
did  not  hear.  I  thought  of  shouting,  but  to  what 
purpose,  w^hen  no  one  could  hear  save  helpless 
creatures  like  myself?  Would  the  night  matron 
never  come? 

Minute  after  minute  dragged  by,  and  the 
sounds  in  the  next  room  as  of  a  caged  animal  in 
torture  continued.  Sick  at  heart  and  faint,  I 
clung  to  my  bars.  At  last  came  those  ponderous, 
solid  steps.  Would  the  matron  hear?  Surely 
she  could  not  help  doing  so,  the  cries  were  so  loud. 

59 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

She  paused  at  the  alleyway  to  listen.  TJien  out 
into  the  darkness,  in  hard,  cold  tones,  came  the 
question : 

"  What 's  the  matter?  " 

Between  long-drawn  sobs  came  the  answer : 

"  Such  pain,  such  cramps ! '' 

Breathlessly  I  waited  for  the  unlocking  of 
doors  and  speedy  assistance,  but  again  in  short, 
curt  words  this  church-going,  benighted  female 
flung  back  an  order : 

"  Ru^  it,  and  keep  still." 

Despite  past  brutality,  even  I  had  not  expected 
such  cruelty,  and  Minerva  was  suffering  too 
keenly  to  obey.  The  gasping  moans  continued. 
Finally  a  light  was  turned  on,  and  Minerva  was 
inspected.  Then  the  heavy  steps  moved  off  and 
presently  they  returned.  This  time  evidently 
with  some  remedy  that  brought  relief,  for  after  a 
while  the  sounds  of  distress  grew  fainter  and 
ceased.  So  the  night  wore  on,  bringing  with  it 
no  rest. 

I  no  longer  cared  w^hether  I  made  a  success  of 
my  prison  investigation  or  not.  I  had  one  con- 
suming desire,  to  get  out.  I  mechanically  went 
through  the  morning  task  of  dressing  and  eating, 
my  whole  being  centered  on  the  note  to  the 

60 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

warden.  The  workroom  was  hardly  reached  be- 
fore I  made  my  request.  This  time  it  was  not 
denied,  and  with  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  I  saw 
the  sealed  note  sent  on  its  way. 

My  heart  grew  lighter  again;  I  could  observe 
those  about  me.  Visitors  came  to  the  door,  and 
daringly  I  reached  for  another  blanket  and 
turned  my  head  for  a  glimpse  of  them.  They  had 
scarcely  departed,  under  the  guidance  of  a  smil- 
ing young  matron,  when  the  officer  who  acts  as 
industrial  instructor  turned  upon  me.  Piti- 
lessly, in  the  presence  of  the  fifty  other  women, 
she  derided  and  upbraided  me  for  boldness  and 
indecency.  Her  strident,  masculine  tones  fell 
like  blows.  I  shrank  from  her  fierceness,  and  I 
saw  in  the  demeanor  of  my  companions  indig- 
nant protest  and  a  longing  to  rush  to  my  rescue, 
but  it  all  passed  over  me  like  water  over  a  duck's 
back;  for  as  I  looked  from  the  window  I  saw 
coming  down  the  prison  yard  the  warden's 
secretary.  My  heart  leaped  in  wild  exultation. 
At  last  my  deliverance  was  at  hand. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  were  sent  for  to  go  to 
the  office.  The  eyes  of  all  were  upon  us  as  Lizzie 
and  I  went  eagerly  forth.  The  fiction  that  we 
were  needed  as  witnesses  was  carried  out,  and  we 

61 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

were  told  to  hurry,  that  we  might  catch  the  noon 
train  for  the  city.  We  were  led  to  the  clothes- 
room,  and  our  possessions  were  returned  to  us. 
We  found  some  of  our  things  badly  damaged  as  a 
result  of  the  cleaning  and  fumigating  that  they 
had  undergone.  Several  articles  were  missing. 
Elizabeth's  stockings  were  not  to  be  found.  But 
such  trifles  were  insignificant.  Somewhere  out- 
side was  the  blue  sky  and  great  open  spaces  and 
fresh  air,  and  our  clothes  were  flung  on  anyhow 
and  pieced  out,  w^here  lacking,  with  the  prison 
supply.  The  two  matrons  who  presided  at  our 
dressing  to  make  sure  we  carried  out  no  concealed 
notes  had  become  almost  human.  Under  the 
spell  of  our  approaching  freedom  they  talked  in 
friendly  manner,  and  gave  copious  advice,  chief 
of  which  is,  "  Take  a  fool's  advice,  and  never  get 
in  again."  Our  assertions  that  w^e  ^^  never  will  ^' 
were  vehement  and  forceful. 

As  we  walked  down  the  long  hall  leading  to  the 
entrance,  my  arm  slipped  through  Elizabeth's, 
and  I  gave  it  an  ecstatic  squeeze ;  but  though  re- 
lease was  only  a  yard  away,  this  unseemly  be- 
havior was  not  to  be  tolerated. 

"  Girls,  girls,  that  won't  do !  "  came  the  warn- 
ing.    "  Let  go  of  each  other !  " 

62 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933" 

Must  all  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  love  and 
friendship  be  crushed  in  prison  for  fear  that 
beneath  it  may  lurk  something  evil?  But  only 
for  a  moment  was  our  ardor  damped,  for  just 
beyond  the  iron  gate  was  the  great  green,  fresh 
world. 

With  thumping  hearts  we  emerged  into  the 
street ;  silently  and  timidly  we  moved  toward  the 
station,  for  a  matron  was  with  us,  and  our  hour 
for  speech  had  not  yet  arrived.  In  perplexity 
we  pondered  how  to  make  our  escape.  Would 
this  woman  insist  on  seeing  us  on  the  train? 
This  would  be  disastrous,  for  we  had  planned  to 
seek  refuge  in  the  home  of  our  former  host.  For- 
tunately, the  train  was  late,  and  having  safely 
landed  us  on  a  bench  in  the  station,  the  matron 
made  her ,  departure.  With  furtive  glances,  like 
true  ex-convicts,  we  watched  the  matron's  move- 
ments, and  as  she  left  by  one  door,  with  stealthy 
caution  we  made  for  another,  and  hailed  a  taxi. 
Safely  within,  the  flood-gates  burst  open,  and  the 
pent-up  speech  of  days  poured  forth.  We  were 
two  pallid  and  wobbly-looking  objects  who 
climbed  up  our  host's  door-steps. 

Two  or  three  davs  later,  before  the  news  of 
our  imprisonment  had  been  made  public,  Eliza- 

63 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

beth  and  I  went  back  to  the  prison.  We  felt  it 
was  due  the  women  that  they  should  know  our 
purpose  in  becoming  prisoners,  and  not  be  led  to 
believe  we  had  been  spying.  As  Elizabeth  and  I 
journeyed  back  through  the  long  corridors  to 
Ward  VII,  it  was  queer  how  the  old  prison  feel- 
ing returned.  The  matrons  were  much  discon- 
certed at  the  disclosure  of  our  identity.  The 
old  dragon  slunk  off  without  daring  to  look  at 
us.  We  stood  at  the  end  of  Ward  VII  while  the 
girls  formed  in  line,  and  then  hand  in  hand 
Elizabeth  and  I  stepped  forward.  At  first  there 
was  no  sign  of  recognition,  but  I  smiled,  waved 
my  hand  at  Minerva,  and  said :  "  It 's  Maggie 
and  Lizzie  come  back  to  you.  Don't  you  know 
us?  "  There  were  smiles  and  starts  and  exclama- 
tions of  astonishment.  Then  I  told  the  women 
who  we  were,  and  assured  them  that  our  whole 
object  in  becoming  prisoners  w^as  to  help  them; 
that  I  hoped  we  might  succeed,  that  our  hearts 
were  with  them  and  always  would  be,  and  they 
could  rest  assured  that  anything  said  in  confi- 
dence would  be  guarded  as  sacred.  All  this  time 
I  watched  Minerva's  face.  At  first  it  was  grave 
and  serious,  but  at  my  last  sentence  it  became 
wreathed  in  smiles.     Then  we  all  shook  hands 

64 


"MAGGIE  MARTIN,  933'' 

and  talked.  But  the  women  hardly  knew  how  to 
be  friendly;  it  was  too  sudden  a  breakdown  of 
the  relentless  prison  barriers.  As  we  left,  one 
woman  grasped  our  hands,  to  utter  with  passion- 
ate fervor,  "  You  're  brave  women." 


65 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

IT  was  a  crisp,  clear  winter's  day.  The  fire 
crackled  brightly  on  the  hearth,  the  steam 
sizzled  in  the  radiator,  an  expanse  of  blue  sky 
and  dazzling  sunshine  shone  through  the  big 
windows.     It  was  all  so  warm,  so  vital,  so  bright ! 

With  sinking  heart  I  opened  the  letter  bearing 
the  prison  postmark.  It  brought  back  too  vividly 
the  prison  cell.  My  voluntary  week  in  prison 
had  cut  deep.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  felt  again 
that  cold  and  barren  cell,  with  dirty,  yellow 
walls,  iron  bars,  and  gloomy  painted  window 
through  which  no  patch  of  sky  or  flash  of  sun- 
shine ever  came.  I  remembered  the  passionate 
longing  for  a  glimpse  of  the  world,  a  smell  of 
fresh  air. 

What  had  my  experiment  accomplished  except 
to  leave  me  with  an  ugly  memory?  Had  any 
impression  been  made  on  the  prison  department? 
Or  was  it  like  so  many  Government  organizations 

66 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

so  busy  existing  it  had  no  time  to  inquire  what 
it  was  doing?  Then  my  eye  fell  on  the  following 
sentence : 

The  paint  has  been  taken  off  the  windows,  and  we  can 
talk  in  the  shop. 

A  queer,  glad  rush  of  feeling  seized  me  as  I 
realized  that  there  w^as  one  official  who  was 
human. 

With  eagerness  I  tore  open  the  remaining  let- 
ters. Every  sentence  bore  evidence  of  a  new  and 
humane  prison  system.  But  woven  in  with  the 
glad  tidings  was  disturbing  information:  the 
matrons  and  keepers,  guardians  of  the  old  order, 
were  rebelling  at  the  new. 

We  are  talking  now,  and  the  paint  is  off  the  windows, 
but  we  pay  dearly  for  this.  The  head  matron  says  she 
thinks  it  ridiculous.  We  are  accused  of  using  language 
that  is  of  the  lowest.  We  are  promised  the  talking  will 
soon  stop. 

Or  this: 

One  of  the  girls  asked  for  paper  to  write  you  and  said 
you  were  a  friend  to  her  and  the  rest  of  us.  The  matron 
said,  "  How  dare  you  ?  "  And  then  they  put  her  on  bread 
and  water  in  her  room.  She  is  a  long-timer.  The  ma- 
trons are  mad,  because  we  can  talk,  and  pick  on  us  all  the 
time. 

67 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

The  new  freedom  was  not  to  be  won  without 
suffering,  but  so  it  is  with  all  progress.  The  ad- 
vocates of  the  old  system  fight  desperately  each 
step  of  the  new  way.  They  fear  each  reform  as 
a  personal  menace.  It  was  hard  to  be  patient 
during  the  next  few  weeks.  My  own  experience 
made  me  understand  the  intolerable  indignities 
and  petty  tyrannies  that  can  be  practised  by 
stupid  people  with  limitless  power.  Everything 
was  done  to  nullify  the  reforms  of  the  official 
with  the  kindly  heart. 

As  my  correspondence  grew,  the  women  I  had 
met  casually  in  prison  came  to  be  distinct  per- 
sonalities. There  was  Mary,  the  young  colored 
girl  who  scrubbed  me  so  vigorously  w^hen  I  served 
as  a  convict.  She  proved  to  be  a  jolly,  light- 
hearted,  irresponsible  young  woman.  In  her 
bubbled  the  spirit  of  youth,  ever  eager  for  a  good 
time.  A  child  of  nature,  with  no  power  of  con- 
trol, she  was  always  in  trouble.  But  to  suppress 
Mary  was  as  futile  as  suppressing  the  sunshine. 
She  was  every  one's  friend,  the  defender  of  the 
downtrodden,  for  whose  sins  she  was  punished. 
Her  first  letter  was  pitiful. 

I  am  locked  in  my  room  and  only  leave  it  to  empty  my 
bucket  and  a  few  minutes'  walk  in  the  morning. 

68 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

Two  women  and  I  were  sewing  on  a  bed  in  the  shop. 
One  was  kidding  me.  I  don't  know  what  was  said,  but 
some  one  laughed.  The  oiBcer  reported  us.  We  were  put 
on  bread  and  water  and  locked  in  our  rooms. 

I  asked  five  matrons  if  they  knew  what  I  was  punished 
for.  No  one  seemed  to  know.  The  Head  Matron  would 
not  come  to  see  me  or  send  me  any  word.  My  temper  got 
the  best  of  me  and  I  destroyed  my  table,  chair,  and  win- 
dow. I  guess  I  was  crazy  for  the  time.  You  see,  I  had 
just  talked  to  the  Warden,  and  my  time  was  nearly  up, 
and  he  had  promised  to  try  to  get  me  out  if  I  was  good. 

I  have  been  locked  in  this  room  nearly  five  months. 
There  is  no  light  at  night,  and  there  is  a  wire  screen  over 
the  window,  so  I  cannot  open  it  to  get  the  air,  and  I  am 
not  allowed  with  the  other  women. 

It  seems  as  though  being  put  in  a  strait-jacket  and  kept 
on  bread  and  water  for  seven  days  was  punishment  enough. 
The  first  time  I  was  locked  in  seven  months,  the  second 
four  months,  and  this  time  it  is  over  five  months. 

This  made  sixteen  months  in  the  seven  years  of 
Mary's  imprisonment  that  had  been  spent  in  soli- 
tary confinement.  Small  wonder  if  occasionally 
her  temper  got  the  best  of  her.  Her  boundless 
energy  needed  outlet  in  work.  Her  uncontrolled 
nature  could  only  gain  balance  through  service. 
The  way  to  reach  Mary  was  through  her  gay  and 
generous  heart.  Her  crime  against  society  was 
the  theft  of  two  dollars.  Not  ordinary  theft. 
For  plain  pick-pocketing  the  punishment  would 

69 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

have  been  trivial :  but  one  night  Mary  with  two 
other  girls  was  out  for  a  lark.  As  they  left  a 
saloon  they  met  two  men  and  stopped  to  chat. 
Presently  one  of  the  men  missed  two  dollars. 
Then  arose  an  outcry.  Mary's  companions  ran 
and  she  was  caught.  No  money  was  found  on 
her  but  she  was  convicted.  The  sentence  was 
from  seven  to  nine  years  for  two  dollars ;  for  if  a 
woman  takes  money  from  a  man  in  the  night- 
time, when  he  has  sought  her  for  illegal  purposes, 
it  is  grand  larceny.  The  law  gives  to  strong  men 
special  protection. 

In  contrast  to  Mary's  wild  gaiety  was  the 
patient  meekness  of  little  Christine.  She  is 
twenty-three,  and  was  sent  to  prison  when  nine- 
teen. I  remember  well  the  first  time  I  saw  her ; 
even  the  prison  cell  looked  big  in  contrast  to  her 
little  figure.  As  she  crept  close  to  the  bars,  her 
head  scarcely  came  to  my  shoulder.  She  had 
small,  shy  features  and  small,  shy  ways.  Her 
golden  hair  was  pulled  straight  back.  Her  blue 
eyes  were  expressionless. 

I  spoke  of  the  little  son  born  in  prison.  With 
a  dart  she  was  at  her  table,  taking  from  it  her  one 
treasure,  a  picture  of  a  radiant,  laughing  child. 
As  she  handed  it  to  me,  her  small  face  was  trans- 

70 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

figured;  no  longer  expressionless,  it  was  alight 
with  love.  For  the  moment  time,  place,  and  self 
were  quite  forgotten.  But  it  was  only  for  an 
instant.  Then  a  look  of  patient  hopelessness 
hid  the  mother  love. — It  was  six  months  since  she 
had  seen  her  baby.  For  two  years  he  had  been 
in  a  children's  asylum.  I  tried  to  get  her  story, 
but  she  spoke  only  broken  English.  I  asked  her 
to  write.  When  her  letter  came  and  the  Polish 
was  translated,  this  is  what  I  read : 

It  is  already  nearly  four  years  since  I  am  locked  up, 
and  there  is  no  one  to  help  me  in  my  misfortune. 

At  the  time  of  the  arrest  I  was  too  young,  and  permitted 
myself  to  be  misled,  and  I  am  very  terribly  sorry;  but  it 
is  too  late. 

There  where  I  worked  I  met  the  man  for  whom  I  am 
now  suffering  and  paying  the  penalty.  He  promised  to 
marry  me.  My  friends  were  long  married,  but  he  told 
me  that  his  promise  he  'd  keep ;  but  I  was  not  to  tell  any 
one.  I  believed  all  the  time  that  he  was  telhng  the  truth. 
I  had  nearly  $100,  for  which  I  worked  so  hard.  He  knew 
that  I  had  the  money,  and  said  I  must  give  it  to  him  and 
all  that  was  owed  to  me  for  work.  He  said  there  was  one 
pocket. 

I  did  not  think  that  he  was  deceiving  me  to  my  shame, 
and  I  gave  him  all  the  money.  Then  I  got  suspicious, 
and  after  two  years  asked  him,  "Why  don't  you  marry 
me?"  I  told  him  I  couldn't  stand  this  kind  of  thing 
any  more.    When  I   reproached  him  he  said  he  knew 

71 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

nothing  about  it.  He  denied  all  he  said  before.  He 
could  do  as  he  pleased.  Nobody  could  force  him.  He 
would  marry  anybody  he  chose.  He  said,  "  America  is  a 
free  country,  and  I  can  do  as  I  please." 

By  those  words  I  was  so  overwhelmed  from  grief,  re- 
gret, and  shame  that  I  took  his  life. 

I  beg  you,  dear  madam,  very  much  to  translate  this 
letter  and  explain  what  the  reason  was,  when  on  trial  I 
did  not  speak,  said  nothing,  because  I  was  ashamed. 
Therefore  I  was  condemned  with  my  child  to  be  impris- 
oned for  ten  to  fifteen  years. 

With  this  letter  in  my  hand  and  the  memory 
of  the  mother  love  in  the  little  face,  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  society  would  wish  to  treat 
Christine  as  a  criminal. 

Prison  is  as  full  of  diverse  personalities  as  the 
outside  world.  It  is  populated  by  the  meek,  the 
gay,  the  talented,  and  the  ignorant.  No  special 
shape  of  head  or  hand  marks  the  convict.  But 
we  are  beginning  to  learn  that  many  prisoners 
have  unusual  personalities.  It  is  as  if  they  pos- 
sessed a  personality  bigger  than  they  could  con- 
trol, an  inner,  seething  force  that  from  childhood 
had  been  misdirected.  To  this  class  of  vivid  and 
striking  personality  belonged  Harriet.  Her  gen- 
erous, passionate  nature  came  into  conflict  with 
the  well-regulated  laws  of  society.     She  was  the 

72 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

Russian  Jewess  who  the  day  I  was  bertilloned 
had  attracted  my  attention  by  her  bitter  grief 
at  the  shame  of  being  pictured  and  catalogued  as 
a  criminal.  She  is  small  and  well  built,  with 
shapely  hands  and  feet,  black  hair  and  large  dark 
eyes.  She  has  needed  intensely,  lived  intensely, 
and  had  little.  Her  untrained  will  has  not  been 
strong  enough  to  curb  her  desires.  Life  for  her 
was  a  series  of  glowing  possibilities.  Eager  to 
satisfy  her  mind,  she  became  mistress  of  several 
languages,  a  student  of  law,  and  a  reader  of 
Shakspere  and  Dante.  Equally  eager  to  satisfy 
her  body,  she  wanted  fine  clothes,  gay  little  sup- 
pers, and  the  luxuries  of  taxis.  Added  to  this 
was  a  generous  nature  which  never  refused  aid. 
The  result  for  a  working-woman  spelt  ruin.  For 
several  years  she  w^orked  as  a  private  secretary 
and  drew  a  good  salary.  But  books  and  clothes 
and  untold  loans  to  friends  could  not  be  so  met. 
Soon  the  outstanding  debts  were  great,  and  a 
check  was  forged. 

This  was  Harriet's  second  offense.  On  the 
first  occasion  the  disgrace  seemed  too  great  to 
be  borne.  Coolly  and  calmly  she  had  weighed 
the  alternatives  of  imprisonment  or  death.  De- 
liberately and  without  haste  she  had  climbed 

73 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

into  a  seven-story  window  and  hurled  herself 
out.  A  few  minutes  later  she  was  sitting  on  the 
ground,  bruised  and  shaken,  with  a  cut  that  was 
to  leave  a  scar,  but  otherwise  unhurt. 

Then  followed  two  years  of  imprisonment, 
which  did  not  cure,  and  Harriet  went  back  to 
society  to  continue  as  before.  When  the  second 
disaster  came,  a  well-known  woman  pleaded  for 
her.  The  woman  agreed  to  shelter  Harriet,  and 
give  her  a  salary  that  she  might  pay  back  little  by 
little  the  amount  of  the  forged  check.  It  was 
evident  that  only  in  some  such  way  would  Harriet 
learn  control.  But  the  court  was  adamant  and 
exacted  its  pound  of  flesh.  Harriet  was  sent  to 
prison  for  four  years.  What  will  she  be  at  the 
end  of  that  time? 

Another  woman  whose  letters  began  to  pile 
high  on  my  desk  and  whose  story  haunted  me  was 
Eose.  It  was  the  heart  of  a  wife  that  cried  out. 
Her  whole  life  was  dedicated  to  her  man  and  her 
two  little  boys.  At  seventeen,  with  a  conviction 
borne  of  certainty  that  she  had  found  her  mate, 
Eose  fled  to  him.  For  ten  years,  through  sick- 
ness and  poverty  and  the  birth  of  two  children, 
they  had  struggled  on  together,  w^ith  an  ever- 
increasing  love.     But  Eose  was  an  outcast,  for 

74 


H    f 


(I 

JO 

O 
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CD 

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05 

O 


cr 

O 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

this  man  of  lier  heart  had  not  married  her.  He 
could  not;  he  was  already  married.  This  was 
the  story  she  wrote : 

I  met  him  and  loved  him  dearly,  but  three  years  before, 
one  night  while  drinking,  he  married.  He  never  saw  the 
girl  but  that  once.  I  made  my  mistake  when  I  went  with 
him,  but  I  thought  we  could  save  together  for  a  divorce. 
But  when  we  had  $70  saved  I  fainted  at  my  work,  and  was 
told  I  would  be  a  mother  in  three  months.  I  didn't 
know  before;  I  was  only  seventeen.  My  sister  came  to 
live  with  me,  and  was  taken  ill  and  sent  to  the  hospital. 
Next  month  Ed  was  in  the  hospital  with  typhoid.  I 
never  missed  going  to  see  them  every  day,  though  I  ex- 
pected my  babe  in  four  weeks.  Two  days  after  my  hus- 
band came  home  (he  is  my  husband  to  me)  I  went  to 
Sloane  Maternity  at  11  p.m.  My  babe  was  born  at  2 
A.  M.  We  started  to  save  again,  but  every  time  we  had 
$25  or  $30  it  was  sickness  and  no  work. 

Ed  only  earned  $12  a  week.  I  worked  in  a  Y.  W.  C.  A., 
then  I  worked  in  a  bakery  taking  crackers  off  hot  pans 
until  my  fingers  were  burnt  to  the  bone,  but  it  was  $5  a 
week.  It  may  seem  funny  that  in  9  years  we  could  n't  save 
enough  for  a  divorce  but  there  were  two  children,  my 
own  operation,  and  Ed's  sickness. 

After  my  second  boy  came  I  got  in  trouble.  I  did 
sewing  home  for  a  few  I  knew,  and  when  I  was  offered 
things  in  pay  for  my  work  I  took  them,  even  though  I 
suspected  how  they  was  got.  For  I  wanted  to  sell  them 
and  get  money.  We  had  a  chance  to  go  as  caretakers  of 
a  big  country  place,  and  I  wanted  to  go  there  married. 

But  I  was  arrested  for  receiving  stolen  goods.    Some 

77 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

one  wrote  to  the  court  that  I  wasn't  married,  and  they 
showed  me  no  mercy.  I  was  bad  for  living  with  a  man. 
Yet  I  know  girls  who  are  married  and  have  children,  yet 
they  drink  and  go  out  with  men. 

I  love  my  darling  so  much  I  would  give  my  life  for 
him.    Do  you  think  I  am  bad  for  saying  this  ? 

I  tried  to  quiet  the  restlessness  Rose's  letters 
created,  telling  myself  that  this  woman  was  a 
convict  and  probably  lying.  But  I  got  no  peace, 
and  I  went  out  in  search  of  the  facts.  It  was 
easy  to  find  Ed.  He  came  at  once  in  response  to 
my  call,  a  fine,  upstanding  young  man,  well- 
dressed,  well-mannered,  and  attractive.  Behind 
him  tagged  two  small  boys,  shy  and  clean  and 
wearing  kid  gloves,  a  testimonial  of  the  father's 
supreme  effort  to  educate  them  as  gentlemen. 
This  would-be  husband  and  father  was  still 
deeply  in  love.  It  was  true  his  faith  had  been 
shaken.  He  had  thought  Rose  a  divinity,  and  he 
found  her  only  human.  Besides,  since  Rose's 
imprisonment,  there  had  been  no  letter.  In 
prison  a  husband  must  be  duly  certified  to  make 
letter-writing  permissible.  In  all  the  long  weeks 
Rose  had  been  allowed  no  word  from  her  little 
sons  or  been  able  to  send  one.  This  I  explained, 
and  all  the  man's  passionate  love  returned. 

78 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

From  the  husband  I  went  to  the  lawyer  who 
tried  the  case.  He  was  sure  Rose  was  all  right; 
that  it  was  a  case  of  taking  things  to  keep 
the  house  attractive  and  to  hold  the  man  upon 
whom  she  had  no  legal  claim.  Then  there 
were  Rose's  people  and  the  family  clerg;ymian, 
all  of  whom  were  confident  of  Rose's  innate 
goodness. 

It  was  all  very  puzzling.  The  world  in  its  un- 
thinking, heedless  fashion  was  spreading  dis- 
aster. It  was  ruthlessly  tearing  a  man  and 
woman  apart,  leaving  two  children  homeless, 
nameless,  and  illegitimate,  while  the  man  was 
sent  back  to  a  woman  of  the  streets.  It  could 
not  go  on.  Rose  would  go  insane.  She  was  sob- 
bing her  heart  out  in  the  prison  hospital.  My 
entrance  into  prison  had  brought  a  brief  diver- 
sion, but  in  the  excitement  of  discovering  who 
I  was  she  had  unwisely  passed  a  note.  This 
brought  punishment.     She  wrote : 

I  have  been  kept  in  punishment  for  20  days.  I  came 
out  of  the  hospital  the  day  you  came  to  prison  and  you 
can  picture  a  sick  woman  in  the  cold  cell  you  had  for  20 
days.  The  bucket  had  no  cover  and  was  emptied  only  once 
in  24  hours.  I  nearly  died.  My  body  is  starving-.  I  can't 
keep  anything  on  my  stomach,  and  my  very  soul  is  starved 
for  my  darlings  and  a  kind  word.     I  am  all  alone  in  that 

79 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

wing  off  the  main  ward.     I  fear  my  mind  will  leave  me. 
I  am  in  shop  now,  but  I  walk  my  floor  all  night. 

Such  suffering  was  unendurable. 

I  remembered  the  official  with  the  kindly  heart 
who  had  let  in  a  flood  of  sunshine  through  un- 
painted  windows,  and  I  made  an  appeal. 

Some  days  later  there  came  an  official  letter. 
In  it  was  a  note  from  Kose  directed  to  the  offi- 
cial w^hich  explains  itself. 

Dear  sir: 

I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  first  night's  sleep  and  the 
happiest  day  I  have  had  since  I  came  to  prison.  When 
I  received  my  husband's  two  letters  I  forgot  I  was  behind 
prison  bars.  Accept  my  thanks  and  my  sincerest  wishes 
for  a  Happy  New  Year. 

Little  by  little  the  convicts  grew  to  be  real  per- 
sonalities. I  longed  to  go  to  them.  Then  one 
fine  morning  came  the  news  that  there  was  a  new 
head  matron,  and  I  should  be  welcomed. 

In  twenty-four  hours  I  stood  at  the  prison  gate, 
bag  in  hand.  With  beating  heart  I  rang  the  bell. 
The  gate  keeper  with  his  great  key  ceremoniously 
unlocked  the  clanking  gate.  A  wicked  delight 
possessed  me  at  my  power  to  open  and  close  that 
barred  door  at  will,  where  before  I  had  been  hus- 
tled and  bustled  about.     In  a  moment  I  was 

80 


MAGGIE  MAETIN'S  FRIENDS 

greeting  the  jolly-faced,  smiling,  new  matron. 
Her  amiability  hid  for  days  the  fact  that  no- 
where beneath  the  soft  surface  was  there  a  back- 
bone. 

With  cordiality  the  freedom  of  the  place  was 
accorded  me.  As  I  stepped  into  the  big,  barren 
hall,  a  group  of  convicts  filed  past.  So  deep  was 
the  prison  experience  that  reality  vanished. 
Again  I  was  a  convict.  A  helplessness  seized  me ; 
instinctively  I  turned  to  fall  into  line.  Even 
the  matron  at  my  elbow  felt  the  pull,  for  she 
addressed  me  as  ^^  Miss  Maggie.''  Then  I  saw 
this  was  not  the  prison  of  a  few  weeks  before. 
Instead  of  sullen,  expressionless  faces,  there  were 
smiles,  waving  hands,  and  turning  heads  as  the 
convicts  flashed  out  their  welcome.  The  despotic 
and  relentless  discipline  had  been  broken;  hu- 
manness  had  crept  in.  How  queer  is  the  solidar- 
ity engendered  by  common  misery  and  a  common 
cause !  Never  before  had  I  felt  so  bound  to  any 
group  of  people.  We  had  a  gay  reunion.  We 
met  freely,  without  keepers  or  guards,  to  discuss 
prison  problems.  And  always  the  suggestions 
for  reform  came  to  the  same  end  —  the  need  for 
self-expression  instead  of  utter  annihilation. 
This  human  need  for  self-expression,  love  and 

81 


SOCIETY^S  MISFITS 

companionsliip  is  wilfully  ignored  in  all  prisons. 
Hysterical,  defective  or  insane  is  the  verdict  as 
the  barred  door  of  the  punishment  cell  slams 
to  on  some  sobbing  woman.  Yet  can  any  one 
be  normal  whose  aching  hungry  heart  and 
passionate  longings  are  condemned  to  weeks, 
months  and  years  of  suppression?  Like  a  puri- 
fying fire  was  the  return  to  normal  relations,  the 
give  and  take  of  friendship,  the  opportunity  to 
serve  others. 

As  the  result  of  our  meetings  a  league  was  or- 
ganized. This  league  was  to  be  the  prisoners' 
mouthpiece.  The  head  matron  agreed  to  accord 
it  the  same  hearing  as  that  given  to  matrons  and 
keepers.  Through  the  league  the  prisoners 
hoped  to  show  they  were  to  be  trusted,  and 
little  by  little  win  some  degree  of  self-govern- 
ment. 

The  new  organization  was  called  ^^  The  Daily 
Endeavor  League."  The  representatives,  one  for 
each  ward,  and  the  president  were  chosen  by  the 
prisoners.  The  color  emblem  was  a  blue  bow, 
proudly  worn  on  each  dress  front.  There  was 
nothing  exclusive  about  this  organization,  for 
all  might  be  members.  Only  in  case  of  abuse 
was  a  prisoner  to  be  suspended ;  but  even  then  a 

82 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

period  of  good  behavior  made  reinstatement  pos- 
sible. 

It  was  a  serious  and  earnest  group  that  met  in 
chapel  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance.  Gravely 
we  signed  the  document  that  was  to  us  a  charter 
of  enfranchisement.  For  the  first  time  in  his- 
tory prison  reform  was  to  come  from  within. 

What  a  melting  pot  prison  is.  It  struck  me 
anew  as  I  felt  the  hand-shake  of  those  114  women. 
There  was  the  toil-worn  misshapen  hand  of  the 
scrubwoman  and  Harriet's  delicate,  shapely  one. 
The  vigorous  warm  grip  of  some  sturdy  colored 
girl  and  Christine's  shy  pressure.  Russian  and 
Irish,  colored  and  Italian  scrubwoman  and  pros- 
titute bound  together  by  a  common  misery,  now 
joyfully  working  together  for  a  common  cause. 
Solemnly  each  woman  left  the  chapel  and  filed 
back  to  her  cell  and  a  deep  hush  of  peace  fell 
upon  the  prison.  Will  there  some  day  be  such 
peace  over  all  the  earth? 

My  prison  visit  had  come  to  an  end,  and  I 
returned  to  the  city.  But  day  by  day  my  mail 
grew  in  interest.  Letters  were  no  longer  con- 
fined to  tales  of  personal  woe;  life  had  grown 
bigger  than  that.  Not  personal  needs,  but  how 
to  improve  conditions,  was  the  chief  topic. 

83 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

Kose  and  Harriet  were  made  representatives 
of  their  wards,  and,  still  more  wonderful,  Mary, 
released  from  months  of  punishment,  was  the 
best  representative  of  all.  Under  her  guidance 
her  ward  which  held  the  most  difficult  cases  be- 
came a  model.  Her  unfailing  tact  soothed 
ruffled  tempers  and  brought  peace  out  of  dis- 
cord. 

Harriet  was  not  so  successful.  She  exacted 
too  much.     The  president  wrote; 

Harriet's  trouble  is  overzealousness.  She  is  so  thor- 
oughly in  earnest  that  she  fails  to  realize  that  others  can- 
not grasp  her  ideas  and  break  away  as  readily  from  little 
habits  as  she  can.  Overzealousness  will  hinder  as  much 
as  lack  of  interest.     But  we  must  be  patient. 

As  for  Kose,  her  responsibilities  transformed 
her.  Tears  were  suppressed,  and  she  became  a 
normal  human  being.  She  turned  her  pent-up 
emotion  into  service.  For  centuries  men  have 
worked  shoulder  to  shoulder  for  a  common  end. 
Women  have  not  had  such  training.  It  was  dar- 
ing to  expect  that  this  group  of  extreme  indi- 
vidualists could  bury  personal  miseries  and  con- 
secrate themselves  to  the  general  welfare,  but  the 
daring  was  justified.  A  reign  of  good  behavior 
descended  upon   the   prison.     The   punishment 

84 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

cells  stood  empty.  Hysterics  ceased,  and  grudges 
were  forgotten. 

The  first  reform  the  league  sought  was  a  re- 
lease from  the  cells  on  Sunday. 

The  interminable  solitary  hours  from  Satur- 
day night  to  Monday  morning  had  been  a  great 
hardship.  Now  Sunday  afternoon  the  women 
w^ere  allowed  to  mingle  together  freely  for  an 
hour. 

The  league  president  wrote: 

I  want  you  to  learn  what  a  good  time  we  had.  While 
we  have  enjoyed  numerous  little  privileges,  to-day  is  the 
first  we  had  our  Sunday  afternoon  recreation  hour.  I 
know  it  will  give  you  much  pleasure  to  hear  that  the 
women  behaved  exceptionally  fine  and  drew  forth  very 
favorable  comments  from  the  officers  in  charge.  It  was 
a  grand  success,  and  I  am  very  happy  to-night,  for  the 
girls  are  falling  in  line  as  we  hoped. 

Perhaps  to  lighten  the  seriousness  that  de- 
scended on  prison  life,  the  new  head  matron 
decided  to  give  a  valentine  party.  It  was  a 
kindly  thought,  yet  I  almost  regretted  it;  for  it 
was  important  there  should  be  nothing  in  the 
nature  of  a  bribe  for  good  conduct.  The  lesson 
humanitv  needs  to  learn  is  that  life's  value  lies 
not  in  what  we  can  get,  but  in  what  we  can  give. 

85 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

Therein  is  the  secret  of  all  reform.  However, 
this  burst  of  gaiety  brought  such  happiness  I 
could  only  rejoice  as  I  read  the  following : 

I  know  you  want  to  hear  about  the  dance  on  St.  Valen- 
tine's day.  To  say  we  had  a  delightful  time  is  but  put- 
ting it  mildly.  You  have  no  doubt  experienced  the  feel- 
ing every  girl  does  when  preparing  for  her  first  dance. 
You  know  what  a  fever  of  excitement  and  expectancy 
there  is.  Well,  so  it  was  with  the  "girls"  here.  Such 
"fixing-up"  and  borrowing  of  plumage  you  never  saw. 
The  ball  opened  at  4  and  ended  at  9  p.  m. 

I  can  picture  former  employees  of  the  institution  throw- 
ing up  their  hands  in  consternation  at  the  "  inmates  of  a 
prison"  keeping  such  unearthly  hours. 

But  real  progress  is  not  made  without  strug- 
gle. Such  harmony  did  not  continue.  Black 
specks  appeared  on  the  horizon,  which  rapidly 
grew  into  ugly  clouds.  The  former  hostility  of 
the  matrons  was  renewed.  If  the  good  behavior 
of  the  convicts  continued,  fewer  keepers  would 
be  needed.  The  staff  might  be  cut  in  half. 
Tales  were  pouring  into  the  head  matron's  ears 
of  plots  and  counter-plots  until  her  smiling  ex- 
terior was  a  ruffled  surface.  Who  were  right, 
the  convicts  or  the  keepers?  Doubtingly  she 
listened,  and  ended  by  giving  allegiance  to  the 
matrons. 

86 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

Meantime  little  by  little  the  prisoners^  letters 
showed  the  drift  of  affairs.  They  struggled 
loyally  to  be  true  to  the  new  head  matron,  but 
doubt  entered.     It  crept  out  in  such  sentences : 

The  new  head  matron  is  kind  and  good,  but  she  will 
never  be  able  to  reform  conditions  until  the  majority  of 
the  old  matrons  are  removed. 

There  must  be  the  spirit  of  kindness  in  the  officers  to 
reach  the  good  that  exists  in  the  heart  of  the  prisoner. 
The  officers  bitterly  resent  the  league.  They  hate  to  lose 
the  power  they  had  and  abused. 

But  ignorant  hostility  was  not  the  only  ob- 
stacle. The  whole  system  was  wrong.  The 
head  matron  made  no  change  in  the  wretched 
prison  diet  and  the  work  remained  a  farce.  Day 
after  day  the  women  hemmed  blankets  and  boiled 
food  in  vats,  while  the  prison  circular  announced 
the  inmates  were  learning  to  sew  and  to  cook. 

Sunshine  had  crept  behind  the  gray  walls. 
The  punishment  cells  stood  empty.  These  facts 
were  glorious,  but  something  else  was  needed,  if 
prison  w^as  not  to  become  a  place  to  mark  time 
in  futile  and  wasteful.  One  woman's  entire  five- 
year  term  had  been  spent  scrubbing  one  floor. 
What  would  she  do  when  released?  Continue  to 
scrub  or  fill  the  monotony  of  her  empty  life  with 

87 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

wild  gaiety?  An  expert  stenographer  was  wash- 
ing clothes  in  the  laundry.  Every  day  rough- 
ened hands  and  swollen  joints  made  return  to 
her  trade  less  possible.  Surely  society  for  its 
own  sake  didn't  wish  to  cripple  the  people  it 
locked  behind  bars  and  make  them  unfit  for  any 
life  but  that  of  the  street  and  crime. 

Brooding  upon  these  things,  I  seized  pad  and 
pencil  and  worked  out  a  wonderful  industrial 
program.  Then  I  again  returned  to  prison.  The 
head  matron  greeted  me  kindly,  and  consented 
to  let  me  try  my  plans.  But  she  was  not  sympa- 
thetic. A  benevolent  despotism  had  supplanted 
a  despotic  tyranny.  That  for  her  was  sufficient. 
Again  we  met  in  chapel.  It  was  late  afternoon. 
The  sunshine  flickered  through  the  barred  win- 
dows. The  ugly  room,  with  its  dirty,  pinkish 
walls,  its  yellow,  wooden  benches  and  cheap  car- 
pet, jarred  the  senses.  Then  the  sun  sank,  and 
a  warm,  red  glow  softened  this  discordant  back- 
ground and  mellowed  the  women's  faces.  A  hush 
fell  on  the  114  convicts  as  they  sat  there  quietly 
without  keeper  or  guard.  All  the  rigidity  of 
bearing  that  comes  from  iron  discipline  had 
vanished.  Here  a  hand  was  carelessly  resting  on 
a  bench  back  or  a  shoulder  drooped  or  a  body 

88 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

was  bent  forward  in  eager  intentness.  Sim- 
plicity, humanness,  and  intelligence  shone  in 
the  eager  faces.  The  mask  of  impenetrable  sul- 
lenness  had  been  torn  aside.  Suddenly,  as  I 
faced  this  vibrant,  awakened  audience,  my  plans 
crumbled.  What  godlike  qualities  did  I  possess 
that  would  enable  me  with  wisdom  to  map  out  in 
smallest  detail  the  lives  of  these  women?  Like 
accusing  fingers  on  the  white  paper  before  me 
flared  out  my  elaborately  worked-out  prison 
schedule,  with  its  hours  for  sewing,  its  hours  for 
cooking,  its  hours  for  recreation. 

There  flashed  upon  me  the  picture  of  myself 
as  a  voluntary  prisoner.  I  felt  again  the  crush- 
ing hopelessness  of  those  strips  of  cold  iron  as 
my  body  pressed  against  them,  and  the  insane 
desire  to  break  out  and  demand  a  hearing,  to 
insist  on  being  treated  as  a  human  being.  That 
was  the  key-note  —  the  need  of  being  treated  as 
a  human  being,  not  as  a  cog,  a  dirty  cog  in  a 
machine.  If  an  effective  program  was  to  be 
wrought,  it  must  be  made  in  conjunction  with 
those  women  whose  lives  it  vitally  concerned. 
They  must  be  given  not  only  work  but  the  de- 
velopment that  comes  from  work. 

Throwing  aside  my  position  as  prison  commis- 

89 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

sioner  and  becoming  again  Maggie  Martin,  933, 
I  jumped  down  from  the  platform.  In  dis- 
jointed, halting  sentences  I  said  I  came  not  as  a 
director,  but  to  put  upon  them  the  burden  of 
evolving  a  prison  program.  As  I  proceeded  joy 
and  self-respect  crept  into  many  faces.  The  re- 
sponse was  tremendous.  From  all  parts  of  the 
room  rose  the  buzz  and  hum  of  discussion. 
Bodies  straightened,  shoulders  were  squared,  as 
the  w^omen  faced  this  new  and  wonderful  thing 
demanded.  With  disconcerting  intelligence  that 
put  my  machine-like  plans  to  shame,  they  went 
straight  for  the  vital  issues,  leaving  for  later  the 
minor  details.  With  infinite  wisdom  the  first 
matter  discussed  was :  "  Shall  all  be  treated 
alike?'' 

On  one  side  of  the  chapel,  occupying  the  first 
few  rows  of  benches,  sat  the  "  old-timers,"  the 
second  and  third  offenders,  those  who  had  previ- 
ous records.  On  the  sleeves  of  these  was  branded 
the  mark  of  shame.  A  red  or  blue  disk  and  white 
stripes  showed  the  number  of  previous  imprison- 
ments. The  system  herded  them  together  as  in- 
corrigible. All  that  was  hardest  in  prison  life 
fell  to  their  lot.  They  lived  in  the  cold,  damp 
cells  in  the  basement,  where  sunshine  never  came. 

90 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

They  were  the  victims  of  rheumatism.  By  day 
they  worked  in  the  moist,  steaming  laundry,  and 
at  night  slept  in  damp,  cold  cells.  This  patient, 
dejected  little  group  was  now  all  alive  to  know 
the  verdict  of  their  companions.  Particularly 
did  their  eyes  seek  the  faces  of  another  group  on 
the  other  side  of  the  chapel.  These  were  the 
"  trusties,"  the  official  favorites.  They  had  the 
better  and  easier  tasks  and  occupied  a  sunlit 
ward.  All  day  their  cells  were  flooded  with  sun- 
shine. There  were  plants  in  the  unpainted  win- 
dows. There  were  pillow-shams  on  their  beds 
and  tablecloths  on  the  tables,  for  theirs  was  the 
show  ward. 

I  waited  results.  In  the  outside  world  we  are 
too  proud  of  superiority  to  desire  equality  of 
treatment.  But  the  crushing  shame  of  iron  bars 
binds  prisoners  together  in  a  real  sisterhood. 
"  One  ain't  better  than  another,''  was  the  general 
verdict.  "  Because  you  're  a  second-timer  don't 
mean  you're  bad.  Most  likely  it  means  that, 
being  a  jail-bird,  the  world  didn't  give  you  a 
show,  and  you  had  to  go  back  to  crime  or  the 
streets  to  live." 

So  they  reasoned.  The  vote  was  unanimous. 
Every  prisoner,  regardless  of  creed,  color,  or 

91 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

previous  prison  record  was  to  be  given  the  "  same 
chance."  Listening,  it  seemed  imperative  that 
the  women  have  the  opportunity  to  live  up  to  this 
ideal.  Temporarily  I  had  the  power.  My  mind 
seized  on  a  plan.  Probably  it  was  against  all 
tradition  and  any  moment  a  higher  authority 
might  intervene,  but  this  was  the  time  for  deeds, 
not  for  fears.  Waving  my  hand  at  the  two 
groups,  I  said: 

"  If  you  're  in  earnest,  why  not  change  places? 
For  months  the  old-timers  have  had  the  worst  of 
prison  and  the  trusties  the  best." 

It  was  a  daring  suggestion.  A  hush  fell  on 
the  chapel,  but  only  for  a  second;  then  swiftly, 
with  mighty  tumult,  the  applause  shook  the 
building.  With  one  accord  every  woman  arose 
to  the  occasion,  swept  on  and  up  by  the  ideal 
demanded. 

Such  enthusiasm  needed  action.  I  called  the 
two  groups  to  come  forward.  I  suggested  they 
pack  their  belongings  and  effect  a  transfer  of 
rooms  at  once.  Gaily  they  departed,  some  forty 
or  fifty  women  in  all,  without  keeper  or  guard. 
Quietly  they  went  on  their  mission  to  pack  their 
odd  treasures.  Prison  possessions  are  few,  and 
soon  they  were  returning.     The  first  to  appear 

92 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

was  a  former  "  trusty/'  now  destined  to  be  a  mar- 
tyr. A  great  straw  hat  given  to  her  when  work- 
ing in  the  prison  yard,  decorated  with  a  gaudy 
ribbon,  was  perched  on  the  side  of  her  head.  In 
her  arms  was  a  soap  box,  with  her  few  posses- 
sions, post-cards,  a  stray  book  or  two.  Her  pallid 
face,  with  its  soft,  quivering,  childish  mouth, 
was  wreathed  in  smiles.  Like  a  veteran  return- 
ing from  the  war,  she  was  greeted  with  wild  en- 
thusiasm. One  by  one  they  came  straggling 
back,  Harriet  almost  sorrowful  that  she  was  to 
gain  by  the  transfer,  and  Christine  serenely  con- 
tent with  her  opportunity  for  service.  All  were 
quiet  and  orderly,  but  every  face  was  radiant; 
heads  were  carried  proudly.  It  was  good  to  be 
trusted,  and  to  prove  worthy  of  trust. 

When  all  had  reassembled,  they  set  out  for 
their  new  wards.  In  a  few  moments  each  had 
chosen  a  cell  and  returned  to  chapel.  Thirty 
minutes  was  the  time  consumed  in  the  transfer 
of  nearly  fifty  women  to  different  cells.  Ordi- 
narily, such  a  readjustment  would  have  been  a 
day's  work,  each  prisoner  solemnly  escorted  by 
keeper  or  guard. 

Thus  is  the  State  money  wasted  on  unnecessary 
guards  and  the  convict  deprived  of  the  freedom 

93 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

of  action  and  responsibility  that  alone  builds  and 
strengthens  character.  A  little  deed,  this  chang- 
ing of  wards,  yet  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  done 
had  opened  a  new  world  and  given  every  woman 
a  glimpse  of  greatness.  We  had  been  lifted  out 
of  ourselves  by  a  true  democracy  and  a  real  un- 
selfishness. To  those  of  us  who  had  experienced 
that  radiant  vision  of  big  things,  it  would  never 
quite  vanish. 

As  I  left  the  chapel,  it  was  difficult  to  walk 
sedately.  I  wanted  to  run  and  shout  and  tell 
the  whole  world  of  the  innate  goodness  in  all 
human  beings.  But  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  I 
met  the  keepers.  Their  glum,  scowling  faces 
flashed  upon  me  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  They 
had  been  kept  a  half  hour  overtime.  I  tried  to 
explain  our  meeting  and  the  wonder  of  it.  To 
them  it  was  nonsense;  they  were  not  interested. 
Their  task  was  to  see  that  prisoners  did  not  es- 
cape. They  were  not  paid  to  reform  convicts.  I 
offered  to  do  their  work  and  lock  every  cell,  but 
this  was  against  the  rule.  I  hesitate  to  criticize 
these  women.  Probably  wisdom  and  nobility  are 
not  to  be  had  for  board  and  |30  a  month;  but 
more  than  new  buildings  and  elaborate  equip- 

94 


MAGGIE  MAETIN'S  FKIENDS 

ment,  prisons  need  fine  people,  possessed  of  com- 
mon sense  and  human  understanding. 

The  first  department  we  attempted  to  trans- 
form was  the  kitchen.  I  really  did  nothing.  I 
only  secured  for  the  women  the  opportunity  to 
talk,  to  plan,  and  to  work.  Upon  the  convict 
cooks  was  put  the  responsibility  of  furnishing 
eatable  food  and  teaching  the  art  of  cooking. 
Many  times  I  had  stood  in  the  kitchen  doorway 
and  seen  gloomy,  sour  looks,  and  pans  of  unap- 
petizing food  sent  to  hungry  convicts.  Grim 
silence  prevailed,  while  vast  chunks  of  food  were 
tossed  into  vats  and  steamed  into  unpalatable 
masses;  for  punishment  food,  not  wholesome 
food,  was  the  objective.  Occasionally  an  order 
was  given,  and  mechanically  the  prisoners 
obeyed.  Life  here,  as  elsewhere  in  the  prison, 
was  mere  existence. 

But  now  all  was  bustle  and  activity.  Seven 
convict  teacher  cooks,  with  seven  convict  pupils, 
had  been  chosen  to  serve  in  the  kitchen.  Long 
and  eager  were  the  discussions,  and  untiring  the 
efforts.  There  was  one  kitchen  stove.  To  boil 
things  in  vats  was  easy;  anything  else  meant 

hours  of  labor. 

95 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

When  dinner  was  served  that  day  a  little  sigh 
of  contentment  ran  around  the  tables  as  each 
prisoner  gazed  at  her  plate.  Instead  of  the 
boiled  and  tasteless  mass  of  codfish  and  potatoes, 
there  were  slices  of  fried  fish  and  a  baked  po- 
tato, the  regular  Friday  food,  transformed  by  a 
labor  of  love. 

It  is  curious  what  a  small  thing  it  takes  to 
awaken  a  feeling  of  good-fellowship.  Eye  met 
eye  with  a  new  light.  This  deed  of  the  convict 
cooks  had  stirred  the  desire  in  all  to  contribute 
like  service.  It  was  a  tired  but  happy  group  of 
kitchen  women  that  went  to  bed  that  night.  A 
new  dignity  had  come  with  responsibility  and 
new  interest  in  work. 

But  this  wonderful  promise  of  big  things  was 
crushed.  The  new  program  demanded  hard 
labor.  The  convicts  uttered  no  word  of  com- 
plaint at  long  hours  and  discomforts  incidental 
to  all  readjustment,  but  the  matrons  rebelled. 
They  could  no  longer  idly  watch  the  prisoners, 
move  them  about  from  spot  to  spot,  and  lock  and 
unlock  them  at  given  hours. 

One  day  a  colored  convict  became  violent. 
She  was  gradually  going  insane.  She  pulled  an 
iron  slat  from  her  bed  and  threatened  to  kill 

96 


MAGGIE  MAKTIN'S  FEIENDS 

whomever  approached.  Panic  spread  among  the 
officers.  As  if  the  whole  prison  had  gone  mad, 
they  seemed  to  imagine  the  only  safe  course  was 
to  lock  every  one  up.  Yet  the  world  had  not 
changed.  Little  Christine  was  as  meek  as  before. 
The  league  members  as  industrious  as  ever.  A 
few  days  later  the  insane  woman  was  sent  to 
Matteawan,  and  the  panic  subsided.  But  mat- 
ters grew  steadily  worse.  Keadjustments  were 
made  to  suit  the  matrons,  and  favors  conferred 
on  certain  girls.  The  program  of  equality  and 
hard  work  was  undermined.  Even  the  league 
was  receiving  its  death-blow.  In  joint  debate 
the  women  had  suspended  a  member  for  un- 
worthy conduct.  She  was  put  on  probation. 
Instantly  the  girl  was  befriended  by  the  keepers, 
and  the  league  ridiculed.  This  put  a  premium  on 
bad  conduct.  Sick  at  heart,  I  went  away.  Not 
many  days  later  I  learned  that  the  head  matron 
had  made  herself  the  league's  president,  and  that 
the  representatives  had  been  directed  to  report 
misbehaviors  to  her  and  the  officers.  Self-gov- 
ernment with  the  officials  in  command  was  a 
farce.  The  women  must  not  be  left  in  such  a 
predicament,  and  I  returned,  this  time  to  disband 
the  league.     The  head  matron  immediately  with- 

97 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

drew  from  the  presidency,  but  it  was  futile  to 
proceed  when  we  had  neither  the  comprehension 
nor  backing  of  those  in  charge. 

It  was  a  grief-stricken  multitude  that  met  in 
chapel.  I  feared  a  riot.  The  league  had  grown 
dear  to  every  heart,  but  the  vote  to  disband  was 
unanimous.  An  organization  whose  representa- 
tives must  report  to  officers  and  become  stool- 
pigeons  and  tattlers  could  not  be  tolerated.  I 
was  determined  there  should  be  no  secrecy  about 
the  cause  of  the  league's  disbandment.  Openly 
we  would  announce  our  decision.  As  I  made  my 
brief  statement,  I  saw  the  joy  go  out  of  114  faces. 
The  women  sat  in  huddled,  discouraged  groups, 
muttering  together.  I  seemed  to  be  killing  the 
thing  that  I  loved.  But  the  fight  was  not  over. 
Angered  at  being  held  responsible  for  the  league's 
failure,  two  matrons  rose  to  do  battle.  In  shrill 
voices  they  denounced  the  women  as  traitors,  yet 
called  upon  the  convicts  to  testify  for  my  benefit 
as  to  their  loyalty  and  kindness.  It  was  a  queer 
scene,  those  in  official  positions  seeking  vindica- 
tion from  others  whom  they  held  to  be  the  scum 
of  the  earth.  As  I  looked  into  those  convict 
faces,  flushed  with  struggling  emotion,  I  won- 
dered if  any  one  would  have  the  courage  publicly 

98 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

to  face  that  official  world  and  state  the  truth. 
One  word  against  an  officer,  and  that  prisoner 
may  be  harried  and  worried  like  an  animal  in  a 
cage.  Yet  I  waited,  hoping  against  hope,  for  that 
qourage  which  defies  the  world. 

Then  half-way  down  the  chapel  I  saw  Harriet 
slowly  rising,  white  to  the  lips,  but  steady.  Re- 
spectfully the  words  came: 

"  You  really  have  n't  been  good  to  us.  You 
did  n't  like  the  league  and  made  fun  of  it."  She 
got  no  further,  for  her  mates,  thrilled  by  such 
dauntless  courage,  rose  to  her  call.  Like  shots 
from  a  cannon,  burst  out  the  mighty  applause. 

And  now  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  an- 
other girl  had  risen,  but  I  dared  not  let  matters 
go  on.  My  position  as  commissioner  placed  me 
falsely  on  the  side  of  the  officials;  I  adjourned 
the  meeting. 

So  we  failed.  The  big  dreams  we  had  dreamed 
did  not  come  true.  Perhaps  I  had  expected  too 
much.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  been  content 
that  Rose  could  write  Ed  and  her  boys,  and 
Christine  see  her  small  son  twice  a  month. 

But  except  for  these  flashes  of  individual  hap- 
piness the  mass  struggle  blindly  on  as  before, 
beating  time  until  their  day  of  release.     In  no 

99 


•    SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

department  is  real  training  being  given.     When 
the  women  are  released,  frequently  they  come  to 
me.     Their  pitiful  helplessness  is  only  too  appar- 
ent.    One  woman  begged  me  to  meet  her  at  the 
Grand  Central  Depot.     The  noise  and  glare  of 
the  city  after  the  long  years  of  seclusion  terrified 
her.     She  clung  to  me  like  a  frightened  child. 
When  we  passed  a  policeman  her  whole  being 
quivered  and  shrank  and  marked  her  a  convict. 
I  got  her  a  room  in  a  boarding  house  until  she 
could  get  employment.     When  I  handed  her  the 
latch  she  was  paralyzed.     The  strain  of  locking 
and  unlocking  a  door  for  her  who  had  been  locked 
in    for    many    years    was    nerve-racking.     She 
stayed  in  her  room  to  avoid  it.     It  was  days  be- 
fore her  awkward  fingers  readjusted  themselves 
to  pots  and  pans,  and  kitchen  utensils,  her  former 
implements  of  trade.     It  is  cruel  to  move  pris- 
oners about  like  pawns  on  a  chess-board  and 
send  them  back  to  society  robbed  of  initiative. 
It  is  as  heartless  as  carrying  a  little  child  and 
then  thrusting  it  into  the  crowded  street  to  walk 
alone. 

Some  day  the  thing  I  have  dreamed  must  come 
true.  Prison  will  be  transformed,  changed  from 
a  prison  to  a  home.     At  its  head  will  be  a  wise, 

100 


MAGGIE  MARTIN'S  FRIENDS 

intelligent  mother,  able  to  distinguish  between 
the  daughter  who  would  be  a  militant  and  the 
one  who  would  be  a  Jane  Austen,  treating  each 
according  to  her  needs.  In  place  of  the  mattress- 
making,  the  women  will  manufacture  the  wrap- 
pers and  female  garments  now  made  by  men  at 
Sing  Sing.  The  smell  of  real  food  will  issue 
from  the  kitchen.  All  will  be  bustle,  cheer,  and 
activity.  And  best  of  all,  the  women  will  be 
moving  about  their  tasks  without  keepers  or 
guards,  learning  self-control  through  self-gov- 
ernment, living  a  life  such  as  she  will  be  asked 
to  live  w^hen  she  returns  to  the  world  outside. 
Only  when  such  a  day  dawns  can  we  equip  con- 
victs to  face  a  doubting  and  hostile  world  and 
prove  their  integrity. 


>  3 

3  J  J  »  >      ) 

J  J  9  ,    »  »         . 

)  >  J  )  > 


101 


PART  II 
BEHIND  REFORMATORY  WALLS 


INTRODUCTION 

It  was  while  engaged  in  work  for  the  Chil- 
dren's Court  that  I  discovered  most  reformatories 
don't  reform.  Visits  to  institutions  were  never 
satisfactory.  I  couldn't  get  the  children  to  talk 
freely.     I  felt  they  were  suppressed  and  afraid. 

Then  came  the  idea  of  consulting  convicts  who 
had  been  institutional  children  about  life  in  re- 
formatories. It  would  be  difficult  to  win  the 
prisoners'  confidence  but  hidden  in  each  heart  is 
the  spirit  of  service.  If  I  could  stir  this  feeling 
and  make  the  convict  realize  that  he  might  save 
children  from  a  fate  like  his  own,  he  would  lay 
bare  his  heart. 

With  this  in  mind,  I  went  to  Sing  Sing  prison, 
and  interviewed  "Happy  Jack."  His  story  is 
told  in  the  succeeding  pages.  The  information 
he  gave  me  made  me  sure  I  had  found  the  way 
to  secure  real  knowledge.  Then  I  spent  my 
voluntary  week  in  prison,  and  realized  as  never 
before  the  horror  of  life  behind  the  bars.  I  knew 
the  helplessness  of  adults  caught  in  the  clutch 
of  prison  authorities,  wielding  limitless  power. 

105 


INTEODUCTION 

It  was  appalling  to  think  what  might  be  hap- 
pening to  the  locked-in  boy  or  girl.  They  had 
no  power  of  redress,  no  way  to  voice  their  suf- 
fering. I  determined  to  go  to  other  convicts  as 
I  had  to  Happy  Jack,  and  appeal  for  further  in- 
formation and  assistance.  As  a  lawyer  I  should 
have  been  mistrusted,  as  a  social  reformer 
doubted,  but  as  "  Maggie  Martin,  933,"  a  fellow 
convict,  every  prisoner  extended  his  hand. 

Through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Thomas  Mott 
Osborne,  Sing  Sing  and  Auburn  prisons  were 
thrown  open  to  me.  I  went  first  to  Auburn.  It 
was  one  Sunday  morning,  I  spoke  to  the  men. 
They  filed  into  chapel,  1,500  in  number  without 
keeper  or  guard,  and  sat  with  upturned  expectant 
faces.  My  own  heart  was  heavy.  The  papers 
were  full  of  the  account  of  tens  of  thousands 
of  men  slain  on  the  field  of  battle.  Love  in  the 
world  seemed  dead.  Yet  as  I  looked  at  those 
faces,  scarred  and  torn  with  emotions,  I  read 
tenderness  and  human  understanding.  Sud- 
denly I  knew  w^hat  to  say :  "Let  us  fight  to  save, 
not  to  kill.  Strong  men  are  needed.  My  wom- 
an's heart  has  seen  the  vision  but  I  need  your 
strong  arms  for  the  fight.  Help  me  save  little 
children.     Tell  me  what  is  wrong  with  reforma- 

106 


INTRODUCTION 

tories.  What  has  crushed  and  broken  your 
lives?  Alone  I  am  helpless,  with  your  aid  every- 
thing is  possible.  Will  you  fight  the  good 
fight?'' 

"  Comrade,  I  give  you  my  hand,  I  give  you  my  love  more 
precious  than  money.  I  give  you  myself  before  preaching 
or  law.  Will  you  give  me  yourself  ?  Will  you  come  travel 
with  me?  Shall  we  stick  by  each  other  as  long  as  we 
live?" 

Somehow  they  caught  my  vision,  felt  all  the 
things  I  left  unsaid.  The  Divine  spark  in 
each  answered  the  call.  Without  a  word,  swept 
by  a  simultaneous  and  common  impulse,  they 
arose  and  stood  in  hushed  silence.  Not  a  sound, 
not  a  hand  clap,  but  as  I  walked  between  the  long 
line  of  men,  out  from  the  chapel,  each  chin  was 
set  firmly,  shoulders  squared,  and  eyes  moist 
with  emotion.  Plainly  on  every  face  was  writ- 
ten the  promise,  "  Henceforth  we  are  fighters,  but 
we  fight  not  to  kill,  but  to  save/' 

That  is  why  I  know  the  stories  told  of  re- 
formatory life  are  true.  The  response  in  Sing 
Sing  was  the  same.  Yet  the  world  has  not  lived 
through  my  experiences.  It  doubts  the  records 
gathered  from  convicts.  For  the  doubters,  let 
me  state  that  I  verified  many  records.     In  all, 

107 


INTRODUCTION 

I  collected  about  1,700  records  and  200  stories. 
Fifty  cases  taken  haphazard  I  verified.  Under 
his  different  aliases  I  looked  np  a  man's  record 
in  the  numerous  reformatories  and  prisons  in 
which  he  had  been  confined.  In  each  instance 
the  statements  made  were  correct,  the  only  dis- 
crepancy being  a  variation  of  a  few  days  in  date. 
A  study  of  the  records  thus  gathered  disclosed 
the  fact  that  two-thirds  of  the  men  confined  in 
prison  had  as  children  been  in  some  sort  of  juve- 
nile institution. 

The  pitifulness  of  the  stories  told  made  plain 
why  so  many  reformatories  do  not  reform. 
Physically,  mentally  and  morally,  children  in 
institutions  were  being  abused.  When  not 
abused  the  spirit  was  neglected.  There  was  no 
love.  During  the  past  generation,  man's 
strength  has  been  largely  directed  to  material 
achievements.  But  there  are  equally  thrilling 
and  bewildering  revelations  to  be  made  in  the 
human  spirit.  To  speak  the  word  that  opens  the 
human  heart  and  makes  the  bent  and  twisted  man 
burst  his  bonds  and  stand  forth  in  all  the  glory  of 
manhood;  or  makes  the  tiny  child  blossom  like 
a  flower,  are  discoveries  requiring  great  men  and 
w^omen.     Neither  the  law  nor  scientific  methods 

108 


INTRODUCTION 

of  reform  can  touch  the  spirit.     In  prison  and 
out,  the  way  to  remake  the  world  is  to  release 
the  bit  of  God  in  each  heart. 
Sparta,  New  Jersey. 
July  3rd,  1916. 


109 


WHY  CAN'T  A  KID  WRITE  TO  HIS 

MOTHER? 

1WAS  talking  with  a  convict.  We  were  dis- 
cussing reformatories.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
flashed  and  he  said,  "  No  one,  unless  he  has  gone 
through  what  I  have,  can  realize  how  wrong  it  is 
to  send  a  child  to  a  reform  institution.  I  was 
sent  to  the  reformatory  at  the  age  of  nine  for 
taking  coal  from  the  railroad  to  keep  my  mother 
and  four  small  children  warm.  Up  to  that  time 
I  had  never  stolen  or  used  bad  language.  I  was 
an  innocent  child.  But  when  I  came  out  seven 
years  later,  I  was  a  full-fledged  young  devil. 
There  are  officers  in  that  institution  not  fit  to 
herd  swine.  I  think  if  it  were  n't  for  children's 
reformatories,  one  prison  would  be  sufficient  to 
keep  all  the  prisoners  of  this  state." 

This  statement  set  me  thinking.  On  all  sides 
were  stories  of  boys  and  girls  made  worse  by  a 
term  in  a  children's  institution.  Visits  to  vari- 
ous reformatories   shed   little  light.     Rows   of 

111 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

children  sitting  in  school,  or  shop,  or  marching 
silently  to  meals  tell  nothing.  The  superintend- 
ents of  the  institutions  dilated  on  what  was  good, 
never  on  what  was  evil.  How  could  I  get  at  the 
defects?  How  find  out  what  was  wrong  in  the 
system?  It  brought  me  back  to  the  convict. 
The  men  who  had  been  hurt  by  a  term  in  a  re- 
formatory were  the  ones  to  consult.  I  deter- 
mined to  talk  with  them,  and  secured  permission 
to  interview  the  inmates  of  Sing  Sing  and 
Auburn  prisons.  I  found  that  two-thirds  of  the 
prisoners  had  been  in  reformatories  as  children. 
They  were  bitter  in  their  hatred  of  these  places. 
All  denounced  them  as  crime-breeders. 

They  were  eager  to  save  the  children  of  to-day 
from  a  fate  like  their  own.  Gladly  they  gave 
records  and  stories  which  demonstrated  the  rot- 
tenness of  manv  so-called  "  reformatories."  Fif- 
teen  hundred  prepared  written  statements. 
With  unfailing  trust,  they  gave  aliases  and  dis- 
closed facts  unknown  to  the  police.  A  convict 
serving  a  short  term  as  a  first  offender  would  lay 
bare  four  or  five  previous  arrests  under  other 
names.  Many  of  these  cases  I  verified.  In  every 
instance  the  statements  made  were  correct.  It 
became  apparent  that  the  majority  of  convicts  are 

112 


WHY  CANT  A  KID  WKITE? 

reform-scliool  graduates.  As  a  child  progresses 
from  grammar  to  high  school,  from  high  school 
to  college,  and  from  college  to  university,  so  de- 
linquent children  graduate  from  one  penal  in- 
stitution to  another. 

Besides  giving  records,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
men  wrote  the  stories  of  their  childhood,  in 
a  reformatory.  These  tales  show  why  it  is 
that  reformatories  don't  reform.  One  rule 
that  exists  in  nearly  every  institution  is  that  a 
child  shall  not  write  to  his  mother  more  than 
once  a  month  and  not  then  if  naughty.  Such  a 
rule  is  intolerable.  Ninety  times  out  of  a  hun- 
dred the  best  influence  in  a  child's  life  is  his 
mother.  He  confides  in  her,  he  goes  to  her  for 
advice,  and  for  the  touch  of  her  hand  when  ill  or 
hurt.  When  sent  away  he  has  the  hand  of  man 
against  him  and  no  mother  to  help. 

This  is  one  man's  story.  He  is  a  prisoner  in 
Auburn  —  twenty-two  years  old.  He  was  first 
arrested  when  thirteen,  and  most  of  his  life  since 
then  has  been  spent  behind  prison  bars.  He  has 
still  the  dancing  blue  eyes  and  curly  brown  hair 
of  a  mischievous  youngster.  There  is  something 
clean,  strong  and  energetic  about  him.  He  was 
the  kind  of  boy  who  smashed  windows,  played 

115 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

ball  in  the  street,  and  was  always  getting  into 
trouble.  He  was  full  of  boisterous  red-blooded 
vigor  and  youth.  Even  ten  years  of  prison  have 
not  killed  the  sparkle  and  life.  There  is  still  a 
ready  smile  and  gay  laughter  on  his  lips.  He 
must  have  been  the  joy  of  his  mother's  heart  —  a 
curly-headed,  fighting  man-child,  always  getting 
into  trouble  and  always  going  to  her  for  help. 
This  is  what  he  writes : 

My  dear  Miss  Doty: 

You  ask  me  the  reason  I  'm  in  prison  to-day,  and  I  tell 
you  straight :  it  was  because  I  was  sent  to  a  reformatory 
when  thirteen  and  could  n't  have  the  good  influences  of  a 
mother.  I  couldn't  even  write  to  her,  and  naturally 
when  released  I  had  gained  a  tendency  to  become  "ille- 
gitimate." I  am  only  twenty-two,  but  I  'm  a  fine  example 
of  a  graduate  from  one  of  the  lowest  to  one  of  the  high- 
est institutions.  In  1906  when  thirteen  I  was  sent  to  the 
reformatory,  and  when  I  left  there  after  two  years  I  was 
a  first  class  "  mobbusler  "  and  "  prowler."  I  was  n't  out 
a  year  before  I  was  sent  to  Elmira  for  burglary.  After 
serving  twenty-two  months  I  was  released  on  parole,  but 
within  four  months  I  broke  parole  and  was  sent  to  the 
reformatory  at  Napanoch.  I  came  out  of  there  in  Octo- 
ber, 1912,  and  in  January,  1913,  was  arrested  and  sent  to 
Sing  Sing  and  then  to  Auburn,  where  I  am  now.  I 
have  n't  been  out  of  prison  more  than  a  few  months  since 
I  was  thirteen. 

As  a  boy  I  was  wild,  but  not  wicked,  and  I  did  love  my 
mother.    When  sent  away  I  was  very  lonely.    You  can 

116 


WHY  CANT  A  KID  WKITE? 

only  write  one  letter  a  month  in  a  reform  school  and  not 
then  if  you  've  been  bad.  I  wanted  to  tell  mother  things, 
but  I  couldn't.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  write  and  hide 
the  letters  in  my  shirt  and  send  them  out  by  some  feller 
when  he  got  discharged.  It  was  against  the  rules.  But 
it  can't  be  wrong  for  a  boy  to  write  his  mother. 

The  reformatory  was  awfuL  It  couldn't  make  any 
one  good.  I  was  sent  there  because  I  threw  a  stone  and 
hit  a  man.  It  was  wicked  to  throw  stones,  but  I  didn't 
mean  to  hit  any  one.  I  used  to  see  the  man  with  the  cut 
in  his  head  and  the  blood  coming.  It  frightened  me  at 
nights,  and  I  wanted  my  mother.  I  wanted  to  ask  if  the 
man  was  well  again.  We  slept  in  a  great,  dreary  dormi- 
tory, packed  close  with  beds,  a  hundred  boys  in  one  room. 
There  were  bars  at  the  windows.  In  winter  it  was  ter- 
ribly cold.  There  weren't  any  mattresses,  only  blankets 
on  the  beds.  Often  I  couldn't  sleep.  You  have  to  lie 
just  so  in  bed  and  mustn't  put  your  hands  under  the 
covers.  If  a  kid  falls  asleep  and  his  covers  come  off  in 
the  night,  the  watchman,  instead  of  pulling  the  covers 
over  a  boy,  gives  him  a  crack  with  a  rattan.  It  wakes  the 
poor  kid  in  an  awful  fright. 

They  beat  the  children  dreadfully.  There  was  a  little 
Jew  boy,  and  he  didn't  want  to  go  to  church  because  he 
was  a  Jew.  He  was  hit  on  the  head,  and  the  ear-drum 
broke.  I  felt  awfully  sorry  and  gathered  the  little  Jew  boy 
up  off  the  floor  and  put  him  to  bed.  For  my  humane  act 
of  picking  up  an  unconscious  boy  from  the  floor  I  received 
a  "  berrie "  (stripped,  put  under  a  cold  shower,  and 
beaten).  If  I  could  have  written  my  mother,  she  would 
have  done  something,  but  letters  home  are  read,  so  you 
can't  tell  anything;  besides  I  had  been  bad  for  helping 
the  Jew  kid,  so  I  could  n't  write  at  all. 

117 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

After  a  while  I  got  hard  and  did  n't  care.  I  tried  not 
to  think  of  my  mother.  Once  eight  kids  and  I  planned  to 
make  a  get-away.  When  we  had  the  door  open,  seven  got 
out,  and  then  I  and  another  feller  started  to  follow,  but 
we  were  grabbed  by  the  throat  and  knocked  down,  and 
were  taken  down  to  the  cellar  and  there  given  a  "  berrie  " 
that  was  a  peach.  The  seven  other  kids  was  caught  in 
two  weeks,  and  we  was  all  given  another  "  berrie."  While 
the  kids  were  away,  I  and  the  other  boy  was  beaten  up 
every  day. 

The  day  you  interviewed  me  you  asked  why  is  it  boys 
in  reformatories  learn  so  little.  It 's  because  the  men  in 
charge  of  the  school  are  foreigners  and  speak  only  broken 
English,  or  else  haven't  any  education,  so  how  can  any 
one  learn  anything? 

In  institutions  they  don't  believe  in  teaching  you,  they 
try  to  beat  it  into  you  with  "  benders."  I  know  you  will 
agree  that  boys  will  be  boys,  but  if  a  boy  in  a  reformatory 
plays  a  joke  on  another,  he  is  beaten  up  for  it,  and  has  to 
stand  in  the  yard  for  five  or  six  days.    You  said  the  day 

you  visited  reformatory  there  were  only  two  boys 

in  the  hospital  and  you  wondered  why  because  there  were 
1500  children  in  the  place.  I  will  explain  the  reason,  for 
I  was  in  the  hospital  for  a  month,  and  I  know.  Nobody 
will  complain  of  being  sick.  The  boys  are  supposed  to 
go  to  the  hospital  to  be  treated.  I  have  seen  kids  between 
nine  and  twelve  have  their  teeth  pulled  out,  and  instead 
of  giving  them  a  mouth  wash  to  rinse  and  clean  the  mouth 
and  throat,  the  man  in  charge  (he  wasn't  a  Dr.)  would 
take  a  toothpick,  put  a  piece  of  cotton  on  the  end,  saturate 
it  with  iodine,  and  stick  it  on  the  raw,  bleeding  gum.  I 
have  had  iodine  put  on  a  knife-cut  instead  of  having  it 
sticked.     Also  I  had  an  abscess  on  my  back,  and  for  six 

118 


WHY  CAN'T  A  KID  WKITE? 

days  I  had  nothing  but  iodine  put  on  it  until  one  day  the 
Dr.  came  and  rushed  me  to  the  hospital  and  lanced  it. 
I  still  bear  the  scar.  For  everything  that  was  the  mat- 
ter, you  was  painted  with  iodine.  We  used  to  call  the 
man  in  charge  of  the  Dr.'s  office  the  "  iodine  kid." 

I  have  seen  children  have  their  necks  and  faces  dressed 
when  they  had  running  sores  or  ulcers,  and  a  bandage 
would  be  wrapped  about  their  necks  and  left  until  it  got 
so  filthy  it  had  to  be  removed. 

One  day  a  kid  came  in  from  the  yard  with  a  broken 
nose.  He  was  about  thirteen,  and  because  he  would  n't 
tell  a  lie  and  say  some  other  kid  hit  him,  he  was  given 
twenty  raps  on  the  hands.  Next  day,  before  going  back 
in  the  yard,  he  said  he  had  his  nose  broken  playing  ball, 
but  they  would  n't  believe  him.  It  is  the  same  thing  day 
after  day.  Nobody  believes  you,  and  you  get  beaten  for 
everything.  Can  you  blame  the  kids  for  not  wanting  to 
complain  when  they  are  ill?  There  was  two  Italian  boys, 
big  fellers  about  sixteen,  who  used  to  bathe  in  the  same 
tank  with  us.  They  were  suffering  from  a  blood  and  skin 
disease.  They  went  to  the  Dr.'s  room,  but  the  "  iodine 
kid"  put  them  out.  The  scalp  of  one  of  these  boys  was 
one  big  scab.  Some  kid  told  the  Dr.  about  it,  and  he  had 
it  taken  care  of.  I  don't  know  what  became  of  the  other 
feller.  This  was  not  the  only  case  of  suffering.  I  know 
a  boy  who  was  sent  to  the  hospital,  and  in  four  days  he 
was  dead  of  hasty  consumption.  He  was  practically  dead 
when  he  was  sent  to  the  hospital.  I  don't  know  if  the 
Dr.  is  to  blame  or  not.  There  was  n't  any  trained  nurse. 
The  boy  was  n't  given  eggs  and  milk,  though  he  asked  for 
them.  The  Dr.  ordered  them,  but  the  kid  never  got  them. 
I  know  all  this  because  I  was  in  the  hospital  waiting  to 
be  operated  on  for  my  abscess. 

119 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

After  I  had  been  in  tlie  reformatory  a  long  while,  I 
decided  to  try  to  get  away  again.  I  fixed  it  so  four  kids 
could  slip  out,  but  they  got  caught.  They  got  a  "  berrie  " 
and  was  asked  how  they  managed  to  escape.  One  said, 
"  The  kid  showed  us  how  easy  it  was,"  so  then  the  man 
in  charge  of  the  yard  sent  for  me  and  asked  me  what  I 
meant.  I  told  him,  "  America  is  a  free  country,  and  you 
are  allowed  to  express  an  opinion."  But  he  did  n't  agree 
and  gave  me  a  "  berrie  "  and  stood  me  in  the  yard  every 
day  for  a  month. 

As  you  see,  I  kept  getting  worse.  I  grew  reckless  and 
did  n't  care  what  I  did.  I  lost  all  touch  with  my  mother. 
I  was  always  naughty  and  couldn't  write  her,  and  she 
was  too  far  away  to  come  to  see  me.  I  was  never  able  to 
send  out  letters  to  her  on  the  sly  and  after  a  while  I  tore 
up  those  I  had  written  and  hid  in  my  shirt.  She  grew  to 
think  I  was  wicked  and  did  n't  love  her,  but  it  was  n't  so. 

There  are  many  other  bad  things  in  a  reformatory,  but 
they  are  so  awful,  to  be  frank,  I  don't  know  how  to  express 
them  on  paper,  or  any  other  way.  The  ridiculous  and 
severe  punishments  meted  out  for  little  offenses  is  shame- 
ful. One  punishment  is  standing  in  the  aisle  by  the  side 
of  the  bed.  When  the  lights  go  out,  the  kid  is  told  to 
kneel.  He  has  to  remain  on  his  knees  in  one  position 
sometimes  for  hours.  This  is  torture  to  a  child,  whose 
mind  is  filled  with  fear  that  if  he  moves  the  punishment 
will  be  increased.  It  breaks  the  child's  spirit,  and  it  is 
worse  than  the  prison  cooler  (dark  cell).  Instead  of 
using  reformative  and  constructive  methods,  the  kid  is 
humiliated  and  humbled  until  he  becomes  a  sniffling 
weakling.  The  kid  that  shows  spirit  and  courage  is 
marked  for  experimental  purposes.  One  of  the  most 
vicious  punishments  is  putting  a  kid  under  a  cold  shower 

120 


WHY  CANT  A  KID  WEITE? 

and  beating  him  with  a  rattan.  In  the  dead  of  winter  I 
have  seen  a  kid  put  under  a  cold  shower  and  kept  there 
till  he  fainted. 

I  hav©  undergone  every  kind  of  punishment  myself. 
When  I  went  to  the  reformatory,  I  was  mischievous,  but 
I  had  a  kindly  nature.     I  never  thought  of  doing  violence 
to  any  one.     But  after  a  few  months  in  the  place  I  can 
truthfully  say  at  times  I  had  the  inclination  to  commit 
murder.     The  whole  atmosphere  of  that  reformatory  is 
the  same  as  that  of  a  state's  prison  except  for  the  cells. 
It  does  not  inspire  confidence  in  a  kid.     Elmira  is  as  bad 
as  any  of  them.     You  go  there,  and  when  you  come  out 
you  are  ready  for  state's  prison  because  of  what  you  have 
learned.     How   can   any   one  keep  good  when  he   never 
comes  in  contact  with  anything  good?     My  mother  was 
my  one  connection  with  good  people.     When  I  was  cut  off 
from  her,  my  only  friends  were  my  pals  in  reformatories 
and  prisons.     Naturally  when   I  went  out  I  went  with 
them.     I  knew  no  one  else,  had  nowhere  else  to  go.     The 
day  I  got  out  of  Elmira  I  was  met  by  a  pal.     As  soon  as 
we   got   to    New   York,    we   commenced   drinking.     That 
night  we  planned  a  burglary  for  the  following  week.    It 
was  the  only  trade  we  knew.     Next  morning  I  tried  to 
borrow  my  fare  to  Chicago.     I  wanted  to  get  away  and 
start  anew.     But  I  drank,  couldn't  get  the  money,  and 
gave  up  all  idea  of  changing  my  mode  of  life.    I  com- 
mitted two  burglaries  in  the  two  following  weeks,  and 
here  I  am. 

I  hope  this  is  the  kind  of  information  you  are  looking 
for.  I  hope  it  helps  the  kids.  If  the  reformatories  were 
decent  the  prisons  wouldn't  be  half  full.  Let  the  kids 
write  to  their  mothers.  Let  them  keep  in  touch  with  one 
good  influence  in  the  outside  world.    Let  them  write  her 

121 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

unopened  letters,  then  they  can  tell  her  when  things  go 

wrong.     If  you  want  anything  else,  let  me  know.     You 

can  call  on  me  any  time.    Don't  forget  it. 

D J 

This  was  D.  J.'s  story.  Marvelous  that  in  spite 
of  it  his  eyes  still  sparkle  and  laughter  is  on  his 
lips!  Many  will  say  it  is  a  convict's  story  and 
therefore  not  true.  But  there  are  hundreds  of 
others  like  it.  I  for  one,  believe  D.  J.  Here  is 
another  letter,  shorter,  but  equally  to  the  point : 

My  dear  Miss  Doty: 

It  is  impossible  to  express  my  feelings  on  paper  in  re- 
gard to  the  punishment  I  received  at  the reforma- 
tory. However,  it  may  give  you  some  idea  when  I  say- 
that  ever  since  that  time  whenever  I  see  any  officers  of 
that  institution  it  is  like  waving  a  red  rag  at  a  bull.  I 
have  a  scar  on  my  cheek  which  I  shall  always  carry  as  a 
reminder.  I  have  received  brutal  beatings  by  the  police 
and  others  since  that  day,  but  have  no  ill  will  toward  any 

but  the  officer  at  the reformatory  who  nearly  killed 

me.  He  has  since  died.  At  his  funeral  I  learned  there 
was  a  grand  ceremony,  orations,  etc.,  the  priest  stating  he 
was  going  to  heaven.  Well!  if  there  is  a  God,  and  that 
man  goes  to  heaven,  may  I  be  sent  to  hell.  I  was  com- 
mitted to  the  reformatory  by  my  parents  because  I  re- 
mained out  late  at  night.  Up  to  then  I  had  not  committed 
any  serious  offense,  but  after  my  release  I  practiced  some 
of  the  ideas  I  learned  at  the  reformatory,  but  was  never 
a  success.  As  a  result  I  have  spent  more  than  half  my 
life  behind  prison  bars. 

122 


Tough  but  interesting 


WHY  CANT  A  KID  WRITE? 

I  was  only  allowed  to  write  my  mother  once  a  month, 
and  every  letter  was  inspected.  My  mother  came  to  see 
me  while  at  the  reformatory,  but  when  she  was  there  the 
party  who  inflicted  punishment  stood  alongside,  and  when 
my  mother  asked  me  who  cut  my  cheek,  I  was  in  such 
fear  of  him  I  stated  I  fell  running  across  the  yard.  I  did 
not  tell  the  truth  until  I  arrived  home. 

My  dear  Miss  Doty,  the  first  prayer  I  have  said  in  a 
great  many  years  was  the  night  at  Sing  Sing  after  listen- 
ing to  your  speech.  I  returned  to  my  cell  and  uttered  a 
short  prayer  for  your  success.  It  may  not  have  been  a 
classic,  but  if  there  is  the  God  they  claim  there  is,  I  be- 
lieve He  will  enter  that  in  His  book  in  your  favor,  as  it 
came  from  my  heart  and  was  wholly  sincere.  Although 
my  record  is  bad,  down  in  my  heart  I  know  I  am  not. 

I  trust  you  may  forgive  me  for  rambling  off  the  way 
I  have,  but  whenever  I  speak  of  those  days,  it  upsets  me, 
and  I  am  hardly  rational.  If  I  could  make  you  and  the 
public  feel  as  I  do,  believe  me,  there  would  be  a  revolution 
in  regard  to  children's  institutions  all  over  the  country. 

Wishing  you  every  success,  believe  me, 

Sincerely  yours, 

D C . 

Suppose  these  men  have  exaggerated.  Is  that 
a  reason  for  not  letting  a  child  write  his  mother? 
Evil  flourishes  behind  closed  doors.  Foul  air 
is  cleansed  by  fresh,  germs  are  destroyed  by 
sunshine,  hidden  sores  relieved  by  opening. 
Why  not  let  tbe  outside  world  into  the  reforma- 
tories?   Good  institutions  will  not  object,  and 

125 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

the  bad  ones  will  be  purified.  No  matter  how 
good  an  institution  there  is  always  a  weak  link. 
The  child  should  be  protected  against  that  link. 
Unless  children  can  write  unopened  letters,  they 
have  no  protection.  It  is  barbarous  that  the 
griefs  of  a  child's  heart,  the  woes  and  injustices, 
can  be  told  to  no  one.  If  childish  imaginations 
occasionally  paint  pictures  that  are  not  true, 
what  matter?  D.  J.'s  story  consists  of  facts. 
Whether  the  little  Jew  boy's  ear-drum  was 
broken,  whether  sick  children  are  properly  cared 
for,  whether  barbarous  punishments  exist,  are 
matters  that  can  be  ascertained  by  inquiry.  If 
the  stories  are  false,  the  mother  can  be  reassured, 
the  child  corrected,  and  no  harm  is  done ;  if  they 
are  true,  the  quicker  the  mother,  and  every 
mother,  and  all  society  knows,  the  better. 

Every  night  thousands  of  little  children  in  in- 
stitutions go  lonely  to  bed.  There  is  no  good- 
night kiss,  no  touch  of  a  loving  hand,  no  one  who 
understands.  But  the  little  heart  would  be 
greatly  cheered  if  it  knew  that  with  daylight  a 
private,  uninspected  letter  to  mother  might  be 
dropped  in  the  post-box  on  the  big,  iron  gate. 
Some  might  not  write,  but  to  all,  good  and  bad, 
come  moments  when  the  soul  cries  out,  moments 

126 


WHY  CAN'T  A  KID  WRITE? 

when  confession  is  on  the  lips,  hope  and  aspira- 
tion in  the  heart;  and  then  a  child  needs  his 
mother. 

Such  a  reform  could  be  brought  about  in  a  day 
if  the  women  of  the  United  States  willed  it.  No 
institution  can  withstand  the  demands  of  the 
mothers.  Let  the  women  see  to  it  that  the  chil- 
dren's institutions  in  her  city  or  state  permit  free 
communication  between  mother  and  child.  Why 
can't  a  kid  write  to  his  mother? 


127 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

A  FEW  weeks  ago  a  gray-liaired  mother  came 
to  me.  Slie  was  a  working  woman.  Her 
hands  were  work  worn,  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 
She  smoothed  the  creases  in  her  skirt  nervously 
as  she  told  her  story.  Her  hoy  was  in  a  reforma- 
tory. She  wanted  my  assistance.  "  Help  me 
get  him  out,"  she  kept  repeating.  "  Help  me 
get  him  out.  He  needs  me  and  can't  have  me. 
I  'm  allowed  but  one  visit  a  month.  He  's  only 
fourteen  and  he 's  growing  hard.  He  's  suffered 
for  what  he  did.  Each  visit  he  asks  will  God  for- 
give him.  The  man  he  shot  haunts  him.  He 
deserves  punishment  for  playing  with  a  pistol  — 
he  and  I  know  that  —  but  he  did  n't  mean  any 
harm.  They  chased  him  and  he  got  scared.  He 
fired;  never  looked  where  he  fired  and  hit  a 
strange  man.  When  he  seen  what  he  done,  he 
stopped  running.  He  flung  himself  on  the 
ground  and  sobbed  and  screamed  until  the  police 
took  him.     For  nights  after  he  sobbed  himself 

128 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

to  sleep.  But  now  he 's  growing  hard.  Last 
visiting  day  his  looks  frightened  me.  He  'd 
brushed  his  hair  down  to  his  eyes.  He  looked 
sullen  and  ugly.  At  home  he  wears  his  hair 
straight  back.  Then  he  has  a  sweet  face.  I 
says,  '  Oh,  son,  don't  wear  your  hair  like  that,' 
and  he  answered  gruffly,  *  I  can't  help  it.  Mother. 
It  don't  do  to  look  good.  They  get  after  you. 
You  've  got  to  look  hard  here  to  live.'  " 

The  gray-haired  woman  paused  pathetically, 
then  added :  "  That  reform  school  ain't  doing 
him  any  good.  If  I  saw  him  oftener  maybe  I 
could  fill  his  heart  with  love.  In  his  last  letter, 
he  says  *  Please  come  soon.  I  '11  wear  my  hair 
the  way  you  like  it.'  " 

As  the  little  mother  looked  at  me  over  her  let- 
ter, suddenly  the  memory  of  another  mother  and 
son  clutched  my  heart.  The  memory  of  a  son 
who  also  adored  his  mother,  and  was  good  to  look 
at,  and  who  had  been  sent  from  her.  At  the 
age  of  nine  he  was  committed  to  the  institu- 
tion where  the  gray-haired  mother's  son  now  is. 
He  spent  ten  years  within  those  grim  walls.  He 
was  not  released.  To-day,  as  a  man,  he  is  in 
State's  Prison. 

Fear  seized  me.     Understandingly  I  grasped 

129 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

the  gray-haired  mother  s  hand  as  she  rose  to  go. 
"  I  '11  do  my  best/'  I  promised. 

This  is  the  other  boy's  story,  the  boy  im- 
prisoned throughout  boyhood.  I  met  him  in  the 
State  Prison  at  Auburn.  His  eyes  first  at- 
tracted me.  Though  a  man,  he  has  child's  eyes. 
Beneath  the  shell  of  manhood  is  visible  a  shy, 
sensitive,  affectionate  boy,  a  mother's  boy,  a 
dreamer,  a  thinker,  a  boy  with  moral  courage  but 
no  physique.  His  eyes  are  honest  but  timid,  the 
beautiful  eyes  of  a  startled  fawn.  In  their  depth 
lurks  suffering.  He  has  seen  things  that  ought 
never  to  be  seen.  A  bad  man,  a  criminal,  he  calls 
himself,  but  the  soft  brown  eyes  belie  the  state- 
ment. No  man  could  look  and  speak  as  he  does 
and  be  innately  wicked.  His  words  come  from 
his  heart.  "  Love,"  he  says,  "  is  the  foundation 
of  all  good  things  —  of  truth,  honesty,  and 
beauty.  I  am  a  bad  man  with  little  chance  to 
reform.  To  fill  me  with  the  love  I  once  had  and 
overbalance  the  bad,  would  require  too  much 
kindness." 

When  he  was  nine  his  father  died  and  left  his 
mother  with  seven  children  to  support.  The 
oldest,  a  girl,  was  fifteen,  so  Larry  and  two  others 
were  sent  to  a  combination  orphan  asylum  and 

130 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

reformatory.  At  this  time  Larry  was  a  good 
little  boy.  He  worshiped  his  mother.  Often  he 
stopped  his  play  to  run  and  press  his  rosy  cheek 
against  hers.  At  night  he  crept  into  her  arms, 
and  on  her  knee,  with  little  arms  about  her  neck, 
learned  to  pray.  It  was  a  bitter  grief  to  leave 
home.  Those  first  weeks  of  separation  were  tor- 
ture. He  rarely  saw  his  mother.  On  the 
monthly  visiting  day  there  was  frequently  no 
money  for  the  trip  or  his  mother  had  to  work.  If 
his  mother  could  have  paid  $2.50  a  week,  he  might 
have  had  a  visit  any  time.  But  poor  children 
cannot  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  mother.  Daily  and 
hourly  he  longed  for  her.  He  wanted  to  tell 
mother  the  terrible  things  that  happened.  But 
when  she  came  he  saw  her  in  a  big  visiting  room 
with  many  other  mothers  and  children  and  his 
little  lips  were  sealed.  He  dared  not  tell  what 
he  knew.  To  tell  meant  a  beating  and  what  was 
worse  yet, —  punishment  for  mother.  Next 
visiting  day  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  see  him. 
One  night  a  new  teacher  was  put  in  charge. 
The  little  boys  hoped  he  would  n't  know  the  rules. 
They  began  to  whisper.  After  interminable  days 
of  silence  this  was  delightful.  But  the  new 
teacher,  on  the  alert,  heard  the  whispers.     He 

131 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

did  n't  know  who  was  guilty  so  lie  picked  out  five 
boys  from  where  the  sound  had  come.  These  he 
told  to  kneel.  The  rest  he  ordered  to  stand. 
You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  The  five  kneel- 
ing boys  were  commanded  to  hold  out  their 
hands.  Ten  times  a  hickory  stick  fell  upon  each 
little  outstretched  palm  with  mighty  blows. 

The  new  teacher  meant  to  teach  the  class  a 
lesson.  Not  content  with  one  punishment,  at 
periods  of  every  half  hour  for  four  hours,  he  re- 
peated the  proceeding.  The  little  hands  grew 
red  and  swollen.  Some  boys  screamed  with  pain. 
It  seemed  to  the  watching  Larry  as  if  hi^  heart 
would  break.  He  could  n't  sleep  that  night.  He 
saw  the  cringing  boys  and  heard  the  screams. 
He  put  his  head  under  the  covers  and  sobbed  for 
mother. 

The  children  in  that  institution  never  had  a 
good  time.  There  was  an  hour  morning  and 
afternoon  for  recreation  in  the  cement  courtyard. 
Some  boys  played  baseball,  but  they  had  n't  much 
spirit.  Larry  wanted  friendship  more  than 
play.  Eagerly  he  sought  among  the  boys  for 
some  one  he  could  love,  some  one  who  would  un- 
derstand, some  one  to  whom  he  could  cling. 

There  was  one  boy  with  a  face  like  an  angel. 

132 


Photograph  by  Brown  Brothers 

Gambling  —  these  are  the  boys  who  form  the  never-ending 
procession  to  the  reform  schools 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

He  liad  curly  red  hair  with  which  the  sun  was 
forever  playing.  It  made  a  halo  about  the  pale 
face.  He  sang  in  the  choir.  Dressed  in  his 
white  surplice  he  seemed  to  Larry  a  real  angel. 
Here  was  a  boy  with  whom  mother  would  like  him 
to  play.  Shyly  he  offered  friendship  and  the 
red-headed  lad  responded.  Larry's  heart  grew 
almost  glad.  This  new  friendship  was  a  sacred 
thing.  He  was  careful  never  to  say  or  do  any- 
thing naughty  in  the  presence  of  his  friend. 
They  had  little  opportunity  to  be  together,  only 
the  recreation  hour  in  the  yard.  Then  they  went 
about  arm  in  arm.  Suddenly  one  night  they 
were  detained  after  the  other  boys  had  gone  to 
bed.  The  teacher  jerked  the  children  in  front 
of  him.  Foul  words  poured  from  his  lips.  He 
told  the  little  boys  they  were  wicked,  loathsome 
degenerates.  They  were  always  together  and 
held  hands  —  that  showed  what  they  were.  Lit- 
tle Larry  didn't  understand.  It  took  much 
plain  talk  before  he  did.  Then  the  world  sud- 
denly turned  into  a  hell.  He  wanted  to  go  away 
and  hide.  Everything  seemed  dirty.  If  only  he 
could  talk  to  mother !  But  the  teacher  was  not 
through  with  him.  He  sent  the  little  friend 
away  and  then  he  stripped  Larry  and  beat  him 

135 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

mercilessly  with  a  rattan.  When  he  grew  short 
of  breath  he  paused  to  ask  if  Larry  would  con- 
fess his  wickedness.  But  Larry  couldn't.  He 
had  n't  been  wicked.  He  had  n't  even  known 
such  evil  existed.  He  said  so.  He  w^as  told  he 
lied.  Again  the  rattan  descended  brutally. 
Finally  from  sheer  fatigue  the  man  stopped. 
Then  he  went  upstairs  to  Larry's  friend.  Soon 
Larry  heard  screams.  His  friend  was  being 
beaten,  his  friend  was  accused  of  evil.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  Larry  wanted  to  hurt  some 
one.  He  wanted  to  kill  that  teacher.  Soon  the 
little  friend,  sobbing  and  terrified,  was  brought 
downstairs.  Again  the  terrible  questions  were 
asked.  Shame,  rage,  and  horror  possessed 
Larry,  but  neither  boy  would  lie.  They  were 
beaten  until  they  couldn't  stand.  Presently 
they  were  carried  to  bed.  For  hours  Larry  lay 
crying  and  cursing,  he  did  n't  know  which.  The 
ten-year-old  boy  had  become  a  man.  The  night 
watchman  making  the  rounds  heard  the  sobs. 
He  came  to  the  child's  bedside.  Larry  showed 
him  the  welts  on  his  little  body.  The  man 
hastened  for  the  doctor.  The  doctor  had  a  kind 
heart  and  a  timid  soul.  He  never  dared  right 
any  wrongs.     But  he  rubbed  ointment  on  the 

136 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

bruises  and  listened  to  the  pitiful  story.  He 
promised  to  do  the  same  for  Larry's  friend.  But 
this  was  the  end  of  the  friendship. 

What  had  promised  to  be  a  David  and  Jona- 
than relation  was  killed  in  its  inception.  The 
children  never  again  dared  to  walk  together. 
Moreover,  they  had  grown  self-conscious.  The 
beauty  of  their  love  had  been  destroyed.  Larry's 
heart  grew  hard.  Prayers  and  mother  were  for- 
gotten. Larry  sought  bad  company.  The  un- 
principled boys  were  wise.  They  knew  how  to 
avoid  detection.  They  initiated  Larry.  One 
day  he  discovered  his  rough  companions  were 
planning  to  escape.  They  had  secured  a  key  to 
the  big  iron  gate.  It  was  risky  but  they  were 
desperate.  The  punishment  when  caught  was 
terrible.  As  luck  would  have  it  Larry  and  one 
other  got  away.     The  rest  were  caught. 

Larry  was  now  thirteen.  He  had  drifted  far 
from  his  mother.  He  was  ashamed  to  go  home. 
He  lived  with  a  wild  gang  of  boys  in  a  bad  neigh- 
borhood. For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  became 
a  thief.  He  stole  to  live.  One  day  one  of  his 
older  brothers  met  him  on  the  street  and  took  him 
home.  It  was  good  to  see  his  mother  again  and 
for  a  while  it  seemed  as  though  Larry  might 

137 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

begin  over.  But  it  was  only  for  a  few  days. 
An  officer  of  the  institution  sent  for  him.  The 
desperate  mother  tried  to  hide  the  boy.  She  saw 
he  was  being  ruined.  She  sent  him  to  an  aunt 
and  he  got  a  position  as  errand  boy.  But  in  two 
months  he  was  discovered  and  taken  back  to  the 
reformatory.  Again  the  great  gate  clanked  be- 
hind Larry.  When  he  was  safely  within  the 
hated  walls  the  principal  took  him  to  a  bathroom 
and  ordered  him  to  strip.  Each  second  the  boy 
wished  he  might  die.  Then  the  rattan  began  its 
work.  From  head  to  heels  great  welts  grew  vis- 
ible on  the  little  body.  Over  and  over  Larry  was 
asked  the  whereabouts  of  his  companion.  But 
Larry  was  not  a  stool  pigeon.  He  refused  to 
tell.  The  enraged  principal  beat  with  blind 
fury.  Unable  to  endure  the  agony  the  boy 
screamed,  "  Why  don't  you  kill  me  and  have  done 
with  it."  It  was  his  first  outward  rebellion.  It 
brought  the  principal  to  his  senses.  He  threw 
the  rattan  away  and  ordered  Larry  to  put  on 
shirt  and  trousers.  These  garments  were  punish- 
ment clothes,  dirty  and  unwashed  from  the  last 
wearer.  He  led  the  boy  to  a  cell.  It  was  a  tiny 
place,  seven  by  three  feet.  It  had  four  bare  walls 
and  a  mattress  on  the  floor.     But  Larry  saw  only 

138 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

the  occupant.  It  was  Frank,  a  boy  who  had 
tried  to  escape  and  failed.  His  eyes  were  sunken 
and  his  face  ashen.  "  Look  at  your  companion/' 
said  the  principaL  "  He  has  been  here  since  you 
left.  Now  it  is  your  turn.  Here  you  stay  until 
the  other  runaway  is  found." 

He  released  Frank  and  put  Larry  in  his  place. 
Larry  flung  himself  face  down  upon  his  mattress 
and  thought  and  thought.  It  was  three  months 
since  his  escape.  All  that  time  Frank  had  been 
in  a  cell.  He  might  be  kept  there  a  year.  They 
would  never  find  the  other  runaway.  He  had 
gone  to  sea.  But  if  they  killed  him  Larry  vowed 
he  would  n't  betray  his  companion.  Hours 
slipped  by  and  night  came.  A  can  of  water  and 
a  piece  of  bread  were  thrust  in  the  cell.  Larry 
could  n't  eat.  For  four  days  not  a  morsel  passed 
his  lips.  Then  the  kind-hearted  doctor  came. 
"  If  I  bring  you  tea  and  cake  will  you  never 
tell?  "  he  asked.  Larry  swore  death  first.  Each 
night  the  doctor  came  well  supplied  and  Larry 
gratefully  forsook  his  hunger  strike.  One  night 
the  doctor  started  to  sit  down  by  the  boy  on  his 
mattress.  Larry  pushed  him  hastily  away. 
"  You  must  n't,"  he  explained.  "  It 's  alive,  and 
so  are  my  pants  and  shirt."     He  exhibited  the 

139 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

crawling  things.  Horrified,  the  doctor  departed 
with  some  captured  specimens.  What  happened 
Larry  never  knew.  The  doctor  never  returned. 
Day  after  day  the  boy  lay  idle ;  no  books,  no  com- 
panionship,—  nothing  but  four  bare  w^alls. 
After  interminable  wrecks  the  headkeeper  ap- 
peared. "  Your  mother  and  little  sisters  were 
here  to-day.  I  sent  them  home  crying.  I  told 
them  you  were  bad  and  couldn't  be  seen." 
Weakened  and  crushed  though  he  w^as,  Larry 
turned  on  his  tormentor.  "  How  dare  you,"  he 
screamed ;  '^  is  n't  it  enough  to  do  what  you  have 
done  without  telling  me  this?  I  hate  you.  I 
hate  all  the  world."  The  words  had  hardly  left 
his  mouth  when  he  was  seized,  shaken,  cuffed, 
and  the  door  of  the  cell  slammed  to.  Two  more 
months  w^ent  by.  The  boy  grew  ill.  Then  the 
principal  appeared  with  coat  and  shoes  and 
stockings  and  told  Larry  to  dress.  It  was  a  cold 
November  day  but  he  was  given  no  underwear. 
Then  he  was  marched  out  doors  and  ordered  to 
stand  on  the  gutter  (a  small  space  at  the  end  of 
the  play  yard).  Here  he  stood  for  eight  hours 
daily ;  no  work,  no  school,  no  play.  He  w^as  for- 
bidden to  speak  and  no  one  dared  speak  to  him. 
Desperation  drove  out  fear.     Larry  found  a  piece 

140 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

of  iron.  He  meant  to  pick  the  lock  of  the  gate. 
But  he  was  caught  and  back  he  went  to  the  cell. 
There  was  another  beating,  more  solitary  confine- 
ment, more  bread  and  water.  One  morning  as  he 
emptied  his  bucket  a  keeper  broke  a  broom  handle 
over  his  bare  legs. 

It  was  the  one  straw  too  much.  Larry  grasped 
his  tin  bucket  and  flung  it  at  his  tormentor.  Be- 
tween his  sobs  he  swore  he  would  kill  that  keeper, 
but  next  day  a  new  man  was  put  on  duty.  Three 
weeks  later  the  boy  was  again  released  from  his 
cell.  He  was  now  a  fit  subject  for  the  infirmary. 
This  time  Larry  was  put  back  into  institutional 
life.  All  hope  of  recovering  the  other  runaway 
had  been  given  up.  So  life  dragged  on.  Each 
day  brought  new  misery.  But  Larry  had  learned 
many  tricks  and  often  escaped  punishment.  He 
drifted  far  astray.  His  mother  rarely  visited 
him.     Love  had  vanished  from  his  heart. 

Then  came  the  day  of  release  —  when  he  was 
eighteen.  The  principal  gave  him  ten  cents  and 
a  prayer  book.  Outside  the  gate  he  paused, 
uttered  a  little  curse,  and  threw  the  prayer  book 
into  the  gutter.  Five  of  the  ten  cents  went  for 
cigarettes.  Then  Larry  set  forth,  but  not  for 
home.     No,  that  tie  had  been  too  completely 

141 


/ 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

broken.  He  felt  polluted  and  unfit  to  associate 
with  mother  and  sisters.  He  met  some  boys  who 
had  been  inmates  of  the  institution.  They  urged 
him  to  take  a  drink.  The  remaining  five  cents 
went  for  beer.  Larry  had  become  a  desperado, 
a  full-fledged  criminal.  Yet  as  I  write  the  word 
criminal  I  realize  it  does  not  fit.  In  spite  of  the 
abuse,  the  brutality,  the  dirt  through  which  the 
boy  and  man  has  been  dragged,  he  has  still  the 
sweetness  of  a  child.  Deep  within  is  the  ca- 
pacity for  love,  a  capacity  that  has  kept  his  soul 
alive  through  all  ills.  "I  have,"  he  says, 
^'  broken  all  ten  commandments  but  one.  I  have 
not  committed  murder,  and  as  God  is  my  witness, 
I  have  never  been  guilty  of  the  crime  with 
which  as  a  little  boy  I  was  charged.  I  am  not  a 
degenerate.''  The  pathetic  and  still  beautiful 
eyes  testify  to  the  truth  of  this  statement. 

Karely  had  any  boy  greater  possibilities  for 
good.  What  he  might  have  been  is  gleaned  in 
his  own  summary  of  his  own  story.  "  As  a  child 
I  adored  my  mother.  She  taught  me  to  like 
prayer.  But  that  institution  taught  me  to  hate 
it.  They  beat  us  if  our  lips  did  not  move  when 
praying.  They  never  stopped  to  consider  that 
the  heart  might  be  moving  in  silent  prayer.     We 

142 


P 


o 

CD 


O 
O 

i-i 

O 
O 
i-S 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

children  came  to  the  conclusion  it  was  better  to 
move  the  lips  with  curses  than  with  prayers.  I 
never  went  to  church  after  leaving  there.  Even 
worse,  I  never  bad  the  heart  to  pray.  I  figured 
I  had  been  made  to  say  enough  prayers  to  over- 
balance all  the  crimes  I  could  ever  commit  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  my  life. 

"  When  I  visited  my  mother,  after  my  release, 
she  said, '  Larry,  are  n't  you  ever  going  to  church 
again? '  I  looked  in  her  eyes  to  see  if  she  meant 
it.  Little  did  she  know  what  I  had  been  forced 
to  think  of  church  and  prayers.  She  reasoned 
with  me.  She  said  all  the  happiness  of  the  here- 
after was  for  those  who  went  to  church. 

"  While  she  talked  I  could  see  the  faces  of  my 
keepers.  I  asked,  Would  they  go  to  heaven? 
She  said,  Yes.  Then  I  began  to  laugh.  She 
asked  me  what  the  matter  was.  I  said  if  those 
people  go  to  heaven  there  won't  be  much  happi- 
ness in  the  hereafter. 

"  Religious  teaching  is  a  good  thing.  But  re- 
ligion must  be  taught  through  love.  If  it  had 
been,  my  mother's  love  would  be  with  me  to-day. 
I  never  kissed  my  mother  after  leaving  that  in- 
stitution. This  is  a  hard  thing  for  me  to  say,  but 
it  is  only  admitting  the  truth.     I  thank  you  from 

145 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

the  bottom  of  my  lieart  for  helping  me  to  state 
what  I  have  so  long  hidden.  If  you  think  I 
could  have  done  so  under  the  old  prison  system, 
you  are  mistaken.  If  Mr.  Thomas  Mott  Osborne 
and  you  and  others  like  you  can  by  kindness 
penetrate  my  heart,  what  can  you  not  do  by  kind- 
ness, with  the  soft  and  tender  hearts  of  little 
children  ? 

"  I  have  told  you  everything  to  help  you  guard 
little  children  from  a  fate  like  mine.  I  will  face 
any  one  who  dares  say  that  one  word  of  what  I 
have  told  you  is  false." 

Larry's  life  cannot  be  lived  over,  but  his  story 
may  save  others.  There  is  the  son  of  the  gray- 
haired  mother.  Like  Larry,  he  is  shy,  sensitive, 
and  affectionate.  His  mother,  his  mother's  love, 
these  are  the  things  he  needs.  From  these  he  is 
being  cut  off.  Something  must  be  done.  There 
are  over  a  thousand  boys  in  this  institution,  and 
all  are  in  need.  Larry's  story  is  not  exceptional. 
A  young  man  in  Sing  Sing  Prison,  who  does  n't 
know  Larry  or  his  story  but  who  as  a  boy  went 
to  the  same  institution,  writes  as  follows : 

"At  the  age  of  fourteen  I  was  arrested  for 
looting  quarter  gas  meters.  Of  course  it  was 
stealing,  but  I  always  ignored  more  profitable 

146 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

spoils.     I   was    sent    to   reformatory.     It 

would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  describe  my 
thoughts  the  first  night  as  I  laid  in  bed.  They 
went  back  to  my  mother.  I  could  not  resist  com- 
paring my  situation  with  similar  ones  at  home. 
I  permitted  myself  to  indulge  in  the  comparison, 
with  results  nothing  short  of  appalling.  My  bed 
had  scanty  coverings,  it  was  near  a  window,  wide 
open.  I  recalled  my  affectionate  mother  coming 
to  my  bedside  and  inquiring :  '  Are  you  warm 
enough,  dear?  Does  the  draught  from  the  win- 
dow bother  you?  '  and  when  I  replied  that  it  did, 
'  I  '11  close  it  up  a  little,  Avourmen.'  Well,  that 
first  night  passed  with  a  few  troubled  dreams, 
and  I  awoke  from  a  sleep  which  I  had  crooned 
myself  into,  with  my  own  boyish  sobs.  I  had 
barely  time  enough  to  begin  to  realize  where  I 
was,  when  a  bell  banged  three  times.  To  me  it 
seemed  to  toll  like  a  funeral  bell.  It  certainly 
appears  to  me  now  a  prophetic  knell,  for  I 
have  n't  had  anything  but  funeral  days  since. 

"Off  to  the  bathouse  we  went  for  a  cold 
shower.  A  little  explanation  is  necessary.  On 
the  checkered  gingham  counterpane  on  our  beds 
was  sewed  a  number.  Mine  was  no  exception, 
but  as  I  had  had  no  time  to  inspect  my  surround- 

147 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

ings,  I  was  unconscious  of  that  fact.  While 
bathing,  a  keeper  began  shouting  divers  num- 
bers :  '2,4.,  S,  11, 18, 1,  6, 17,  etc'  As  he  bawled 
each  number  a  shivering  boy  left  his  place  under 
a  shower. 

"  '  Seventeen !  Seventeen ! !  Seventeen ! ! ! '  he 
yelled  with  rising  inflection  and  increasing  so- 
norousness, and  as  he  continued  to  screech  his 
face  took  on  a  diabolical  look  which  I  viewed 
with  alarm.  However,  as  he  did  not  look  in  my 
direction,  I  felt  I  was  immune.  Soon  there 
were  none  left  under  the  shower  but  myself, 
and  I  joined  the  others. 

"  Back  to  the  dormitory  we  marched  and  took 
up  our  places  at  our  respective  beds.  Then  on 
the  blue-checkered  counterpane  I  noticed  with 
something  akin  to  horror  the  number  '  seven- 
teen.' '  Seventeen !  Seventeen ! '  The  number 
rings  in  my  memory  yet.  A  cold  sweat  of  ap- 
prehensive fear  broke  out  on  me  as  I  saw  the 
keeper  approach.  He  roared  with  hate  showing 
in  every  feature:  *  So  you're  seventeen,  eh?' 
I  recall  I  welcomed  the  blow  of  the  descending 
steel  wire  cane  covered  with  insulated  tape,  and 
although  blow  after  blow  descended  with  increas- 
ing   force,    I   preferred   that    to    watching    his 

148 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

hideous,  diabolical  visage.  The  results  of  this 
initial  beating  were  ridges  and  welts  all  over  my 
back,  neck,  legs  and  arms,  rendering  them  numb. 
I  could  n't  even  have  used  a  spoon  for  my  break- 
fast had  I  the  least  inclination  for  that  meal. 
But  I  hadn't,  young  and  hardy  as  I  was;  the 
appetite  of  youth  was  missing.  I  learned  that 
the  keeper  who  had  beaten  me  was  an  Indian. 
But  I  was  soon  to  learn  that  that  made  no  espe- 
cial difference.  Almost  all  the  keepers  soon  con- 
vinced me  they  were  equally  fiendish  and  I  have 
an  opinion  they  were  all  Indians  of  the  tribe 
of  Tammany.  This  beating  was  but  introduc- 
tory to  a  series  which  served  to  create  within 
me  a  determination  to  get  even  with  everything 
and  everybody.  I  felt  I  was  justified  in  regard- 
ing a  society  which  tolerated  such  an  institution 
as  my  avowed  enemy.  My  mother  died  before  I 
was  released.  But  all  love  and  goodness  had 
been  beaten  out  of  me.  I  came  out  infinitely 
worse  than  I  went  in.  I  had  a  grudge  against 
mankind  and  set  about  getting  square  with  the 
result  that  I  have  finally  landed  where  I  am  — 
in  a  State's  Prison." 

There  are  a  dozen  more  stories  of  this  insti- 
tution.    They  all  corroborate  one  another,  yet 

149 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

none  of  the  writers  are  acquainted.  This  sim- 
ilarity of  statement  makes  a  strong  case.  Com- 
pare the  following  with  Larry's  story. 

"  I  spent  eight  years  in  the reformatory. 

My  mother  sent  me  there  because  she  was  un- 
able to  support  me.  The  punishments  in  this 
place  were  awful.  We  were  beaten  all  over 
with  a  rattan.  Religion  was  beaten  into  us.  I 
haven't  been  inside  a  church  since  I  left  that 
institution.  Our  mothers  were  allowed  one  visit 
a  month,  if  we  had  n't  been  bad.  The  keeper  in 
charge  of  the  visiting-room  was  very  genial  to 
the  parents,  but  woe  betide  the  kid  when  visit- 
ing day  was  over  if  he  made  any  complaint  to 
his  mother.  It  was  a  good  '  trimming  '  for  him 
that  night. 

"  I  entered  that  institution  when  I  was  young 
and  needed  a  mother's  love  and  care,  and  when 
finally  released  I  cared  nothing  for  love  or  any- 
thing else.  I  had  been  completely  cut  off  from 
family  ties.  Does  it  surprise  you  I  am  a  con- 
vict to-day?  Push  the  mother's  pension  move- 
ment and  you'll  have  less  convicts  in  future 
generations." 

Another  man  says : 

"My  mother   died  while  I  was  in  re- 

150 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

formatory.  A  keeper  took  me  down  and  let  me 
see  her  in  her  coffin,  but  I  was  not  allowed  to 
remain  to  the  funeral,  though  one  week  later  my 
time  expired  and  I  was  released  from  the  re- 
formatory." 

The  stories  in  this  article  have  been  confined 
to  one  institution,  but  it  is  no  exception.  Other 
reformatories  are  equally  guilty.  The  majority 
of  children's  institutions  cut  children  off  from 
home  and  rob  them  of  a  mother's  love.  The 
first  great  reform  is  to  throw  open  the  institu- 
tions. Let  the  public  see  what  is  going  on. 
Why  should  we  be  so  tender  of  headkeeper  and 
officers,  so  anxious  to  protect  them  from  criti- 
cism that  we  permit  no  inspections  except  by  a 
special  commission?  Why  should  the  word  of 
officials  always  be  accepted  and  that  of  suffer- 
ing and  unprotected  children  ignored?  As  one 
convict  says :  "  Open  your  reformatories  and 
orphan  asylums  to  all  visitors  the  way  Thomas 
Mott  Osborne  has  thrown  open  Sing  Sing. 
Let  the  inmates  talk  to  visitors  and  take  them 
around.  This  is  the  greatest  safeguard  against 
evil  administration."  This  convict  is  right,  but 
some  institutions  will  object.  They  will  say  it 
hurts  discipline.     But  the  discipline  of  public 

151 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

schools  or  boarding  schools  is  n't  demoralized 
because  visitors  see  and  talk  to  the  children. 
On  the  contrary,  such  inspection  keeps  up  the 
standard.  Once  the  spirit  of  openness  and 
frankness  is  cultivated,  mothers  will  not  be  de- 
barred from  institution  doors.  It  is  the  official 
attitude  of  secrecy  that  cuts  the  child  off  from 
home.  Every  child  should  have  the  right  to  see 
his  mother  once  a  week.  If  she  can't  come  to 
Mm  why  not  let  him  go  to  her?  Boarding  school 
children  frequently  spend  Sunday  at  home.  Is 
there  any  reason  why  an  orphan  should  n't  visit 
relatives?  Even  a  reformatory  youngster  should 
be  tried  out  by  home  visits,  some  months  before 
his  release.  If  he  can't  spend  Sunday  with  his 
people  and  behave,  he  is  n't  fit  to  be  released. 

A  mother's  visit  should  never  be  stopped  be- 
cause of  a  son's  bad  behavior.  Then,  if  ever, 
mother  love  is  needed.  It  is  of  vital  necessity 
that  every  institutional  child  have  a  mother  or 
an  adopted  mother,  some  one  of  their  own  to 
love,  some  one  they  see  and  write  to  often,  some 
one  to  whom  they  pour  out  their  heart.  This 
is  as  important  as  tooth  brushes,  soap,  or  warm 
clothing.  The  human  plant  can't  thrive  without 
it.     Would  that  every  child  had  a  home,  but  in  de- 

152 


fD 


a 


•  O 

P 

a- 

CD 
Q 
C+- 
O 

a 

o 


fD 


BEHIND  THE  WALLS 

fault  of  that,  institutions  must  no  longer  be  run 
like  factories.  They  must  be  humanized.  This 
process  of  humanizing  is  essentially  woman's 
work.  If  you  inform  a  board  of  man  trustees 
that  the  institutional  plumbing  is  bad  and  the 
children  are  getting  typhoid,  they  will  change 
it  with  a  will  and  instal  the  latest  improvements. 
But  they  grow  perplexed  over  a  baby  with  a  tear 
in  its  eye  and  run  away.  To  nourish  the  heart 
of  a  child  and  make  it  blossom  like  a  flower,  is 
woman's  secret.  Love  is  the  center  of  life.  Be- 
cause we  women  know  this  we  must  break 
through  the  grim  man-made  institutions  and  see 
that  no  child  goes  unloved  or  unvisited. 


155 


WANTED  —  A  MOTHER 

IT  was  Christmas  day  in  the  year  1902.  Soft, 
flurry  flakes  fell  and  stuck  to  the  window- 
pane.  A  sad,  little  face  was  pressed  against  the 
glass;  a  harsh  iron  grating  obstructed  the  view. 
Tears  crept  down  the  pale  cheeks.  There  was 
to  be  a  Christmas  dinner  and  a  Christmas  tree 
and  a  tiny  box  of  candy  for  each  boy  in  the  big 
institution.  But  the  little  heart  ached.  If  only 
there  were  some  one  who  cared;  some  one  to 
whom  he  belonged;  some  one  to  love.  Even  a 
tiny  letter  all  his  own ;  a  letter  with  words  like 
caresses.  He  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer. 
He  'd  run  away.  His  mother  had  died  when  he 
was  seven.  He  had  spent  four  dreary,  unhappy 
Christmases  in  the  reform  school.  His  father 
had  forgotten  him.  If  he  could  have  written, 
maybe  Daddy  would  have  remembered,  but  for 
six  months  his  monthly  letter  had  been  stopped. 
Little  L.  C.  had  been  naughty.  He  was  only 
eleven,  and  he  was  lonely  and  desperate.     He 

156 


WANTED  —  A  MOTHER 

watched  the  great,  white  flakes,  looked  at  the 
clean  white  world,  and  decided  to  run  away. 
This  was  before  L.  C.  had  committed  any  crime. 
Thirteen  years  later  I  found  him  in  the  State 
prison  at  Auburn,  New  York.  Ten  of  the  thir- 
teen years  since  the  day  he  ran  away  had  been 
spent  in  prison  —  fourteen  Christmases  out  of 
twenty-four  behind  prison  bars.  He  had  been 
in  prison  in  Indiana,  Ohio,  Kansas,  California, 
Michigan,  New  Hampshire,  and  New  York. 
After  each  imprisonment  he  fled  to  another 
State,  assumed  a  new  name,  and  when  again  ar- 
rested was  tried  as  a  first  offender.  Eight  of- 
fenses and  eight  imprisonments,  varying  from 
thirty  days  to  two  years,  is  his  record. 

Yet  in  spite  of  it  L.  C  is  a  strong,  clean- 
shaven, upstanding  young  man.  He  wants  to 
travel;  he  wants  to  learn,  and  he  wants  to  live. 
His  blue  eyes  are  clear  but  thoughtful,  but  hid- 
den in  their  depths  lies  a  tragedy. 

^'  Did  you  run  away  that  Christmas  night?  "  I 
asked. 

^'  Yes,  and  got  caught.  A  kid  of  eleven 
does  n't  stand  much  chance." 

"What  happened  then?"  I  inquired. 

He  smiled  queerly  and  hesitated,  then  came 

157 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

the  tragic  story.  "  It 's  a  serious  offense  to  try 
to  escape.  First  there  was  the  hickory  sprig 
until  merciful  unconsciousness  brought  relief. 
But  that  was  nothing  to  w^hat  followed.  A 
shackle  weighing  fifteen  pounds  was  put  on  my 
right  leg  above  the  ankle.  Three  times  daily  it 
was  inspected  for  signs  of  tampering.  I  wore 
this  piece  of  ^  jewelry  '  for  eight  months.  That 
was  considered  a  short  time,  but  to-day  a  scar 
on  my  leg  the  size  of  a  silver  dollar  and  my  stride 
in  walking  mutely  testify  to  its  effect.  A  boy 
wearing  one  of  these  things  is  kept  on  the  move. 
I  had  to  carry  bricks  from  the  press  to  the  bak- 
ing oven,  a  distance  of  twenty -five  yards.  Back 
and  forth  all  day  and  at  night  during  play  hour 
I  stood  on  the  chalk  line.  After  I  had  worn  my 
*  pet '  for  two  months,  blood-poisoning  set  in 
from  a  sore  it  had  worn  in  the  leg.  I  was  in  the 
hospital  six  weeks,  but  the  shackle  was  n't  re- 
moved. Had  I  lost  both  legs  I  suppose  it  would 
have  been  put  around  an  arm  or  my  neck  until 
the  prescribed  period  had  elapsed.  When  I  got 
well  I  had  to  make  up  the  six  weeks  I  spent  in 
bed." 

So  that  was  why  L.  C.  limped.     It  seemed  in- 
credible, but  the  limp  and  the  scar  were  telling 

158 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

evidence.  I  looked  at  him.  There  was  no  bit- 
terness in  his  eyes;  instead  he  was  looking  at 
me  eagerly.  "  I  want,"  he  said,  "  to  begin  life 
over ;  I  'm  young  —  only  twenty-four ;  I ' ve  been 
studying;  I  am  reading  Blackstone  in  my  cell 
every  minute  I  can.  I  We  taught  myself  all  I 
know.  I  realize  that  education  is  my  only  way 
out.  I  have  absolutely  no  relatives  —  no  one  to 
help  me.  I  We  got  to  fight  it  out  alone.  They 
say  Mr.  Ford  gives  men  a  chance ;  I  'm  going 
there  when  I  get  out,  but  I  'd  like  to  keep  in 
touch  with  you  and  tell  you  how  I  get  on." 

Then  came  long  letters  from  L.  C.  Soon  his 
whole  story  was  unfolded;  in  its  unfolding  he 
made  shrewd  comments.  He  had  no  use  for  re- 
form schools  and  their  methods.  He  wrote: 
"  The  systems  in  all  reformatories  fall  short  of 
their  purpose,  reformation.  They  try  to  reform 
by  disciplinary  training,  which  means  conform- 
ing to  a  set  of  rules  and  regulations.  A  boy  who 
has  committed  theft  is  sent  to  a  reform  school 
and  given  a  set  of  rules  to  abide  by.  I  concede 
that  certain  rules  must  be  enforced,  for  proper 
government  in  any  organization,  but  it  does  n't 
follow  that  a  boy  of  six  to  fifteen  years  of  age 
can  reform  himself  morally  by  complying  with  a 

159 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

set  of  rules,  such  as :  ^  Thou  shalt  not  talk  or 
laugh,  except  during  the  evening  hour  on  the 
playground.'  Such  rules  hurt  both  man  and 
boy  mentally,  morally,  and  physically.  I  have 
served  under  nine  different  set  of  rules  and  I 
have  yet  to  find  one  that  if  abided  by  for  twenty 
years  would  solve  any  one's  life  problem.  The 
rule  against  talking  made  us  sneaky.  We 
learned  to  talk  with  our  fingers. 

"  The  punishments  for  breaking  rules  in  the 
first  reformatory  were  as  follows :  1.  A  number 
of  blows  on  the  bare  back  with  either  a  w^ater 
soaked  hickory  sprig  or  an  oiled,  soaked  strap. 
When  this  method  w^as  used  the  victim  was  held 
by  all  ^  fours  '  to  avoid  ^  accidents.'  2.  A  num- 
ber of  blows  on  the  palm  of  the  hand  with  a  ruler. 
3.  Considered  the  worst  of  all,  consisted  in  be- 
ing put  on  the  mute  system.  A  boy  was  forbid- 
den to  utter  an  audible  sound  for  a  period  vary- 
ing from  thirty  days  to  eight  months.  The  only 
means  of  communication  was  by  w^riting  on  a 
piece  of  paper  attached  to  a  tablet  w^hich  hung 
about  the  neck.  The  boy  would  point  to  what  he 
had  written,  the  guard  w^ould  come  up  and  read 
it,  and  write  an  answer.  I  have  seen  this  method 
used  by  the  superintendent  himself.     There  were 

160 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

many  other  forms  of  torture  too  numerous  to  de- 
scribe, such  as  holding  the  arms  in  the  air  for 
a    certain    period.     We   were    often    desperate. 
That  was  why   I   ran  away.     But   I   only  got 
caught.     It    did   no   good   to   complain.     There 
was  no  one  to  complain  to.     Our  letters  to  rela- 
tives were  a  farce.     Each  boy  not  punished  was 
permitted  to  write  one  letter  a  month.     But  he 
had  to  write  on  a  blank  letter-form.     Certain 
rules  governed  the  correspondence.     A  boy  could 
make  no  reference  to  punishment  or  in  any  way 
mention  the  treatment  he   received.     He  must 
confine  himself  to  family  matters.     Every  letter 
had  to  begin,  ^I  am  well;  I  hope  you  are  the 
same,'  even  though  he  lay  half  dead  in  the  hos- 
pital.    If  he  was  n't  able  to  write  the  bov  who 
wrote  for  him  must  say  he  was  well.     Generally, 
a  relative  was  not  informed  of  a  boy's  illness  un- 
til all  hope  of  recovery  was  past.     Only  one  visit 
every  three  months  was  permitted,  and  that  for- 
feited if  the  boy  had  been  punished." 

Poor  lonely,  little  Kiddie  of  eleven  with  the 
shackled  leg  and  hungry  heart.  If  that  Christ- 
mas day  so  long  ago  there  had  been  a  mother, 
or  an  adopted  mother,  some  one  to  love  you, 
would  you  ever  have  reached  a  State's  prison? 

161 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

Would  you  ever  have  become  what  you  now  term 
so  graphically  as  "  One  of  the  drops  in  the  dirty 
bucket  of  water"?  Two  thirds  of  the  men  in 
State's  prisons  have  been  in  children's  institu- 
tions. Further  the  records  show  of  this  two 
thirds  50  per  cent,  come  from  broken-up  homes 
in  which  either  the  father  or  the  mother  had  died 
before  the  child  was  fifteen.  Hundreds  of  lonely 
little  children  in  institutions  exist  year  after  year 
unkissed,  unloved,  uncared  for.  The  heart  sick- 
ens without  love;  the  soul  grows  hard;  evil  en- 
ters —  and  society  pays.  This  is  what  one  man 
at  present  in  Sing  Sing  prison  wTites  about  the 
child's  need  of  affection : 

January  3rd,  1916. 
My  dear  Miss  Doty: 

Since  our  talk  I  have  been  thinking  deeply  over  the 
work  you  are  trying  to  perform.  Most  every  one  says 
they  love  the  kiddies,  but  few  go  out  of  their  way  to  help 
them.  It  is  magnificent  to  labor  for  the  boys  and  girls  in 
the  juvenile  institutions,  where  they  starve  for  affection 
and  where  they  are  surrounded  by  objects  that  never  have 
the  least  hint  of  a  home. 

My  mother  died  when  I  was  four  years  old.  I  am 
told  I  loved  her  very  much  for  a  wee  kid,  and  I  believe 
I  did  if  after  life  is  a  reflection  on  childhood.  My 
father  placed  me  in  a  home  very  soon  after  her  death. 
It  had  very  little  in  common  with  other  juvenile  homes, 
and  I  only  mention  it  because  though  it  was  good  in  its 

162 


Photograph  by  Underwood  &  Underwood,  N.  Y. 


Mother  care 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

way  it  lacked  in  affection.  We  had  a  nurse  and  a  head- 
matron  in  charge.  I  never  remember  receiving  a  kiss 
from  either  of  these  two  in  all  my  three  or  four  years' 
residence. 

At  the  age  of  thirteen  I  was  sentenced  to  a  reformatory. 
It  was  a  barn,  a  place  for  cattle,  not  for  boys.  We  were 
allowed  to  write  and  receive  one  visit  a  month.  The  first 
month  I  must  have  shed  an  ocean  of  tears.  I  would  have 
given  any  treasure  I  possessed  to  any  one  who  would  have 
written  to  me  or  come  to  see  me.  The  world  was  a  hor- 
rible nightmare.  I  did  not  receive  one  kind  word,  or  one 
letter  of  love  and  sympathy  from  any  one.  I  believe  the 
bitterness  of  those  first  months  when  I  could  not  realize 
the  where  and  whyfore  of  things  more  cruel  and  heart- 
aching  than  all  my  future  misery,  of  which  I  can  claim  a 
lion's  share.  I  know  that  experience  left  its  scar  upon  my 
soul.  There  were  many  brutal  things  that  occurred 
which  we  kids  never  dared  to  tell  any  one  because  we  felt 
that  the  officials  were  against  us  and  we  knew  if  we  in- 
formed the  higher  officials  of  the  institution  the  su- 
perintendent would  belittle  the  matter,  and  the  officer 
would  get  even  with  us,  as  soon  as  he  found  out  who 
had  told. 

One  instance  I  remember  well.  An  officer  who  had 
charge  of  the  boys'  yard  gave  a  little  Jewish  fellow  twenty 
raps  on  the  hand  with  a  heavy  night-stick.  The  boy's 
hands  were  all  swollen  and  he  showed  them  to  the  super- 
intendent. The  superintendent  spoke  to  the  officer  and 
told  him  to  be  more  lenient.  The  officer  immediately  pun- 
ished this  boy  by  making  him  stand  on  a  line  facing  the 
wall  of  the  building.  It  was  April  and  he  said  to  the 
boy,  "  Stay  there  every  hour  you  are  not  working  until  the 
snow  falls  again."    That  boy  lost  every  hour  of  recreation 

165 


SOCIETrS  MISFITS 

for  months.  Do  you  think  he  dared  to  tell  the  officials 
again  ? 

There  was  never  a  fatherly  feeling  among  the  officers 
for  the  boys,  let  alone  a  motherly  one.  It  is  surprising 
that  any  one  of  us  have  retained  any  of  the  finer  feelings 
after  having  passed  through  these  brutalizing  institutions. 
It  is  a  wonder  any  of  us  could  come  through  the  cold, 
unfriendly  atmosphere  and  still  respond  to  the  feeling  of 
kindness. 

Besides  the  cruelty  of  the  officers,  the  older  boys  could 
do  most  anything  to  the  smaller  kids.  Immorality  was 
and  is  common  in  these  places.  Had  kids  a  mother  or  a 
sympathetic  friend  to  confide  in  they  would  have  steered 
clear  of  practices  that  certainly  warped  their  lives. 

Small  boys,  especially,  crave  affection.  They  do  not 
get  it  from  home  for  they  are  not  allowed  to  write  and 
pour  out  their  hearts ;  they  do  not  get  it  from  the  officials ; 
so  they  fall  an  easy  prey  to  any  older  boy  who  is  kind, 
who  will  give  them  a  few  sweetmeats.  Then  the  older 
boy,  if  he  is  immoral,  can  do  as  he  chooses.  So  the  af- 
fection needed  is  supplied,  or  rather  bought,  and  the  price 
19  horrible.  This  exists  in  all  asylums  to-day,  as  it  al- 
ways has,  because  of  the  lack  of  affection.  The  punish- 
ments in  the  reformatory  in  1903-4  were  more  severe  for 
boys  from  five  to  eighteen  years  of  age  than  they  are  in 
State's  Prison  to-day,  for  men.  A  dark  cell,  hard  boards 
at  night,  bread  and  water  and  actual  physical  torture  in 
the  daytime,  was  the  mode  of  punishing  little  tots,  and 
growing  boys. 

I  was  whispering  in  the  Chapel  one  evening  just  before 
service  began.  An  officer  came  behind  me  and  struck 
me  so  hard  on  the  ear  that  I  could  not  hear  for  ten  days. 
Even  to-day  I  have  trouble  with  that  ear.     I  cried  myself 

166 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

to  sleep  with  pain  that  night.  They  put  me  in  a  dark 
cell  the  next  time  for  whispering  in  the  dining-hall.  I 
nearly  went  frantic.  It  seemed  I  was  buried  alive.  This 
is  one  of  the  most  inhuman  things  about  juvenile  institu- 
tions. A  boy  or  girl  who  is  the  least  bit  timid  should 
never  be  put  into  a  dark  cell  and  left  there.  It  leaves  an 
indelible  mark  upon  his  character.  He  goes  through  life 
with  a  sort  of  horrible  fear  of  isolation. 

I  believe  every  institution  where  boys  are  sent  and  left 
unfriended,  unloved,  unadvised,  and  above  all  unable  to 
tell  things  freely  and  confidentially  to  those  they  love 
and  trust  is  a  menace  to  the  State.  Permission  to  write 
and  explain  injuries,  fears,  and  troubles  is  the  keynote  to 
the  situation  of  doing  some  good  for  the  boys  and  girls 
confined  in  institutions. 

Miss  Doty,  I  hope  this  will  help  a  little.  The  one  rec- 
ommendation I  think  of  at  present  is  that  a  great  deal  of 
attention  should  be  paid  to  those  first  few  months  a  boy 
is  incarcerated.  These  are  the  hardest  for  him  to  under- 
stand and  the  loneiest  period  of  all. 

Sincerely  yours, 

H.  E. 

What  a  letter !  I  close  my  eyes  and  see  a  pro- 
cession of  sobbing  children,  children  with  tear- 
stained  cheeks,  pleading  eyes,  and  outstretched 
hands.     It  is  not  to  be  borne. 

There  are  millions  of  women  eager  to  serve 
and  thousands  of  motherless  children  in  institu- 
tions. The  two  must  be  brought  together.  One 
letter  a  week  to  a  lonely  child  would  transform 

167 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

life.  Half  the  prisons  in  the  world  would  be 
emptied  if  neglected  and  delinquent  children 
had  a  mother's  love.  But  to  make  this  possible, 
silly  institutional  rules  must  be  abolished. 
Mother  and  child  and  adopted  mother  and  child 
must  be  able  to  correspond  and  see  each  other 
freely  and  confidentially.  Nothing  must  stand 
in  the  way  of  the  child's  need  of  affection.  Chil- 
dren are  not  bits  of  machinery  to  be  beaten  into 
a  mold.  Each  child  is  an  entity.  Each  child 
has  a  soul.     Each  child  needs  individual  love. 

Think  of  the  abandoned,  nameless,  and  home- 
less children  thrust  into  asylums.  I  met  such 
a  one.  He  w^as  a  convict  without  a  name. 
"  ^  Who  are  vou?  Where  do  vou  come  from?' 
Those  are  the  questions  that  haunt  me,"  he  said. 
His  voice  quivered ;  his  hand  shook.  "  From 
babyhood  those  questions  have  been  flung  at  me. 
They  wrecked  my  life.  You  are  the  only  person 
who  has  said  it  did  n't  matter.  You  say,  ^  Do 
something  big  and  then  the  question  will  be, 
"  What  have  you  done?  " —  not,  ^'  Who  are  you?  " 
God!  If  only  that  might  be.  I  never  thought 
that  way  before,  but  may  be  you  're  right.  I  '11 
begin  by  helping  you.     I  '11  tell  everything  about 

my  childhood." 

168 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

The  faded  blue  eyes  looked  into  mine.  His 
courage  was  all  but  gone.  His  virility  had  been 
sapped.  Drugs,  bad  habits,  and  disease  had  left 
their  mark.  His  words  were  disconnected. 
Seething  emotion  robbed  him  of  speech.  But  lit- 
tle by  little  he  told  his  story.  Later  he  wTote  it 
out.     This  is  what  he  said : 

Friend : 

You  have  consented  to  let  me  call  you  friend  and  I 
appreciate  it.  I  was  so  choked  with  feeling  this  after- 
noon I  couldn't  say  what  I  wished.  I  will  do  all  I  can 
to  assist  you. 

I  was  n't  born  evil.  Evil  was  grated  on  me.  Let  me 
speak  frankly.  Twenty-seven  years  ago  I  was  born  in 
so-called  cultured  and  staid,  old  Boston.  But  as  far  as  I 
can  remember  I  became  conscious  of  existence  around  the 
age  of  seven.  In  a  place  for  destitute  children  I  first 
learned  the  meaning  of  the  word  fear.  There  I  was 
taught  to  be  suspicious  of  mankind.  There  I  learned  the 
shallowness  of  humanity.  In  fact,  it  was  there  the  seed 
of  evil  was  sown  within  me.  Why,  why,  if  there  is  a 
God  does  He  let  innocent  children  come  into  a  world  of 
sorrow  and  shame! 

Always  two  questions  haunt  me  — "  Who  are  you  ?  "  and, 
"  Where  do  you  come  from  ? "  These  questions  I  can 
never  answer.  They  have  caused  me  pain  and  humilia- 
tion. I  hate  to  think  of  the  past,  but  I  'm  doing  it  to 
shed  a  little  light  on  your  work.  Perhaps  if  I  do  I  may 
be  able  to  answer  the  question :  "  Wliat  have  you  done 
to  make  the  world  a  better  place  ? "     Perhaps  I  can  help 

169 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

a  little  to  give  the  down-trodden  offspring  of  society  what 
I  should  so  have  liked  —  some  one,  somewhere  who 
loved  me. 

I  remember  well  the  matrons  in  charge  of  the  asylum. 
It  is  Saturday  morning  and  bath  day.  The  matron  picks 
out  two  of  the  older  boys  to  help.  I  am  always  one  of 
the  helpers.  The  matron  is  there  for  discipline.  We  un- 
dress the  tiny  children.  In  so  doing  we  must  be  careful 
not  to  expose  them.  If  we  do  there  is  a  lash  of  the  cane. 
Could  anything  be  so  utterly  foolish  as  such  sublime 
modesty  on  the  part  of  matrons  who  think  nothing  of 
stripping  a  child  naked  and  beating  him?  Such  actions 
give  children  bad  thoughts.  They  become  frightened  if 
a  matron  looks  at  them.  They  fear  they  will  be  beaten 
for  something  they  cannot  understand. 

Keligion  we  had  always,  and  then  some.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say  against  religion.  It's  a  fine  thing,  but  like 
everything  else  taken  to  excess  it  is  bound  to  put  a  crimp 
in  one  somewhere.  If  they  would  only  take  a  simpler 
form  of  teaching  religion,  I  'm  sure  it  would  be  more 
successful.  They  try  to  drive  religion  into  you  by  fear. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  what  we  begin  to  fear  we  begin  to 
hate. 

When  I  was  still  very  little  I  was  adopted  by  an  under- 
taker. That  place  was  a  nightmare.  For  a  bad  childish 
habit,  I  was  punished  by  not  being  allowed  to  drink  any 
water  after  three  in  the  afternoon.  You  can  imagine  the 
craving  of  a  little  child  for  water.  It  taught  me  my  first 
lesson  in  scheming.  I  would  wait  until  every  one  was 
asleep  then  I  would  get  out  on  the  back  porch.  There 
was  an  old  barrel  which  caught  the  rain  water  drained 
from  the  roof.  This  dirty  water  I  would  drink  to  my 
heart's   content  and,   believe   me,   it  tasted  good.    It   is 

170 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

little  things  like  this  helped  make  me  what  I  am  to-day  — 
a  convict.  I  learned  to  be  tricky  and  cruel.  I  would 
go  into  the  barn  and  pick  up  the  little  kittens  and  put 
them  in  the  horses'  manger  or  under  their  feet.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  only  way  I  could  satisfy  my  feeling  of  hate  to- 
ward these  people. 

One  day  some  money  was  left  on  the  mantel  and  could 
not  be  found.  Of  course,  I  was  accused.  I  told  them  I 
did  n't  take  it.  But  I  was  called  a  liar  and  thief  and  told 
that  children  such  as  I  were  never  any  good;  that  if  we 
were,  we  wouldn't  be  sent  out  to  be  taken  care  of  by 
others.  From  that  day  I  felt  the  real  meaning  of  the 
word  mother.  I  would  sit  and  cry  for  hours  for  the 
mother  I  never  knew.  I  would  ask  where  she  was  and 
say  I  wanted  her.  But  they  only  laughed  and  mocked, 
and  said  strange  things  I  didn't  understand.  It  was 
then  those  questions  began  to  haunt  me.  Who  are  you? 
Wliere  do  you  come  from?  It  was  then  I  became  care- 
less about  going  to  the  house.  I  felt  I  was  n't  welcome. 
I  slept  where  I  could;  sometimes  in  the  woods,  sometimes 
in  an  old  building.  Eat!  God  alone  knows  where  I  ate. 
In  the  daytime  I  would  play  with  boys  I  had  met  at  pub- 
lic school  in  the  hope  they  would  ask  me  to  dinner  or 
supper,  and  when  they  did,  that  question  would  rise  like 
a  ghost  in  the  dark  — "  Little  boy,  what  is  your  mother's 
name?  Wliere  do  you  live?"  I  suppose  the  children's 
mothers  investigated  and  found  out  the  truth,  because  my 
playmates  dropped  off  one  by  one,  until  finally  I  had  no 
one  to  whom  I  could  say  hello. 

It  was  about  this  time  an  agent  came  and  took  me  back 
to  the  home.  After  awhile  I  was  adopted  again.  A  newly 
married  couple  came  in  search  of  a  boy  who  would  be 
presentable  around  the  place  to  run  an  elevator.     They 

171 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

picked  me  out.  They  were  really  the  nicest  people  I  was 
ever  with.  The  man  was  janitor  of  an  apartment  house. 
A  gentleman  lived  in  one  of  the  apartments.  He  used 
to  come  into  the  elevator  and  talk  to  me.  He  never  asked 
me  where  I  came  from  or  who  I  was.  At  first  I  liked 
him.  He  asked  me  to  his  apartment  to  see  his  beautiful 
things.  But  I  will  never  forget  that  first  visit.  That 
man  taught  me  to  be  a  degenerate.  After  that  nothing 
was  too  good  for  me.  But  the  janitor  became  suspicious 
because  this  man  gave  me  so  many  presents  and  so  much 
money.  Eventually  I  took  the  money  I  had  and  ran 
away.  They  must  have  sent  out  in  search  of  me,  for  one 
night  when  I  was  walking  along  the  street  a  policeman 
grabbed  me  and  told  me  a  man  at  the  police  station  wanted 
me.  The  minute  I  saw  the  man  I  recognized  him  as  an 
agent  from  the  home.  He  treated  me  very  kindly  and 
took  me  to  a  hotel  for  the  night.  Then  I  found  he,  too, 
was  a  degenerate.  I  only  tell  you  this  in  passing,  to  show 
you  what  an  educating  start  I  had.  Perhaps,  if  every 
one  knew  what  was  behind  the  closed  doors  of  a  convict's 
life,  they  would  not  be  so  ready  to  blame  us. 

The  next  day  the  agent  took  me,  not  to  the  home,  but 
to  an  industrial  school.  The  superintendent  seemed  to 
be  kind.  He  called  me  "  dear  son,"  and  said  I  would  have 
a  fine  time.  He  took  me  into  a  tower  and  showed  me 
what  he  called  a  beautiful  place.  All  I  could  see  was  a 
lot  of  shops  enclosing  a  small  yard,  and  a  high  wall, 
which  I  learned  afterwards  was  to  prevent  boys  from  run- 
ning away.  My  first  unpleasant  experience  was  having 
all  my  hair  taken  oif.  Soon  afterwards  I  was  introduced 
to  punishment.  This  consisted  in  being  stripped  and 
beaten  with  a  rubber  hose,  with  enough  force  to  make 
even  a  tiger  yelp  with  pain. 

172 


kj 


'  3e&--' J(Si;>-«Efc*-i:Wiafi  .0* 


When  a  feller  needs  a  friend 


WANTED  — A  MOTHER 

Wtile  I  was  there  I  never  saw  or  experienced  any  good, 
wholesome  education.  It  was  much  like  the  asylum  in 
this  respect.  All  we  were  taught  was  religion,  and,  be- 
lieve me,  it  was  a  mockery  to  faith. 

One  evening  I  felt  dreadfully  sick  and  couldn't  eat. 
The  keeper  in  charge  said  I  must  eat.  When  I  refused 
he  made  me  kneel  on  the  floor,  and  punched  me  and 
knocked  me  down.  I  tried  to  get  up  but  he  felled  me 
again.  From  that  time  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get  away. 
One  day  when  the  boys  were  sent  to  shovel  snow  from  the 
sidewalk  I  managed  to  escape.  You  can  imagine  my  feel- 
ing (even  though  it  was  mid-winter)  at  being  free  again. 

I  went  directly  to  the  naval  recruiting  station,  I  passed 
the  examination  for  enlistment,  but  again  came  up  those 
questions :  "  Who  are  you  ?  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 
I  was  ashamed  and  framed  up  a  plausible  story.  But  it 
wouldn't  do  —  I  must  have  the  consent  of  my  folks. 
You  see,  this  was  another  overthrow  by  fate.  I  did  n't 
know  what  was  to  become  of  me  —  I  was  an  outcast.  I 
went  from  place  to  place  to  get  some  kind  of  work.  I  was 
hungry  and  had  barely  enough  clothes  to  cover  me.  At 
night  I  slept  in  a  delivery  wagon  in  a  barn. 

Finally  I  got  a  job  in  a  cafe.  I  received  $6  a  week  and 
my  suppers.  I  hired  a  room  and  lived  as  I  thought,  like 
a  prince  for  nearly  a  year.  I  was  in  bed  every  night  at 
nine;  my  health  was  perfect;  for  once  I  was  enjoying 
myself.  I  met  some  nice  people.  A  woman  who  had  an 
official  position  took  an  interest  in  me  and  gave  me  books 
to  read.  She  asked  me  what  I  would  like  to  be.  I  told 
her  a  civil  engineer.  After  a  while  she  said  if  my  mother 
would  be  willing  to  board  and  clothe  me  she  could  get  me 
a  free  education.  I  did  n't  want  to  tell  her  the  truth.  I 
was  ashamed.     Time  and  again  I  have  gone  to  the  orphan 

175 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

asylum  to  try  to  find  out  the  truth.  But  the  matrons 
would  never  tell  me  anything.  They  said  a  lot  of  things 
were  better  not  known.  They  would  never  tell  me  whether 
my  folks  were  living  or  dead.  You  can  imagine  my  feel- 
ings all  these  years.  Not  even  a  relative  could  I  name. 
But  I  haven't  given  up  hope.  I  have  traveled  all  over 
this  country  and  everywhere  I  try  to  find  out  something 
about  my  people.  But  it  has  been  a  vain  quest.  If  I 
could  know  the  truth  probably  it  would  change  my  way  of 
living.  Always  when  I  have  known  nice  people,  I  have 
run  away  rather  than  tell  them  the  truth. 

One  night  in  the  cafe  a  young  fellow  came  in  and  be- 
gan talking  to  me.  Tinally  he  asked  me  to  go  to  a  show. 
I  jumped  at  the  invitation  because  I  could  not  afford  such 
pleasures.  After  the  theater  he  took  me  to  supper.  I 
did  n't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  This  was  the  first  time 
I  ever  took  part  in  the  drama  of  wealth.  The  next  day  he 
came  to  see  me  and  took  me  to  lunch.  He  bought  me  a 
whole  new  outfit.  I  began  to  feel  the  power  of  money 
and  good  clothes.  But  eventually  I  realized  what  it  all 
meant.  Consequently,  I  determined  to  lose  him.  I  left 
my  job  and  found  a  new  one.  But  he  followed  me.  I 
gave  in  and  went  with  him.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  My  crime  wave  began  and  has  been  going  ever  since. 
I  was  down  and  out.  My  health  was  shattered.  I  had 
nothing.  I  walked  the  streets  all  night  so  I  wouldn't  be 
arrested.  My  mind  was  in  a  flurry.  I  walked  into  a  place 
and  stole  an  overcoat,  and  sold  it  to  buy  some  food.  I 
was  arrested.  The  probation  officer  asked  where  I  lived. 
I  told  him  the  truth.  I  was  put  on  probation.  But  I 
was  as  badly  off  as  ever.  Shortly  afterwards  I  stole  a 
French  lens,  worth  $150  and  sold  it  for  $1.  I  was  sent 
to  jail  for  three  months.     I  did  a  lot  of  thinking  while 

176 


WANTED  —  A  MOTHER 

there.  I  thought  of  my  past.  It  seemed  the  hand  of 
fate  was  against  me  when  I  tried  to  go  straight.  I 
thought  of  the  days  as  a  little  child  when  I  prayed  (it 
sounds  like  a  joke),  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  as  only  a 
faithful  child  can  pray,  I  begged  God  to  help  me  in  time 
of  need,  but  all  in  vain.  I  have  gone  hungry  and  sick 
in  the  very  streets  of  plenty.  I  have  seen  children  with 
their  mothers,  enjoying  themselves,  while  I  was  lonesome. 
My  only  friends  had  been  my  real  enemies,  human 
leeches  taking  my  life  away.  I  thought  of  the  days  as  a 
child  when  I  had  been  refused  water  to  drink.  How  I 
had  been  wrongfully  accused  of  stealing.  How  I  had 
been  mocked  because  I  cried  for  my  mother.  I  had 
learned  the  shallowness  of  humanity.  Even  the  hand  of 
God  seemed  turned  against  me,  and  I  swore  in  that  little 
cell  I  would  not  play  in  the  hands  of  fate.  No,  I  would 
take  fate  into  my  own  hands.  I  would  hate  all,  I  would 
lie  and  steal;  I  would  do  everything  against  the  laws  of 
God  and  man.  The  things  I  learned  in  those  melting  pots 
of  crime  came  to  my  assistance.  I  became  crafty  and 
distrustful  of  every  one.  I  made  no  friends;  if  I  did  it 
was  simply  to  rob  them.  The  hate  which  had  been  burn- 
ing within  me  all  those  years,  came  out.  Before  the  age 
of  twenty  I  was  arrested  for  robbery  on  the  high  seas; 
grand  larceny,  forgery,  and  burglary.  I  have  been  ar- 
rested all  over  the  United  States  and  Canada.  Both  by 
the  federal  and  State  authorities.  No  doubt  I  am  receiv- 
ing my  just  punishments ;  but  then  again,  if  I  had  got  my 
just  rights  as  a  child,  I  would  not  have  become  a  convict. 
I  tried  to  live  and  live  right.  I  did  all  I  could  to  keep 
away  from  crime.  I  had  no  mother's  hand  to  guide  me; 
I  had  no  father's  arm  to  protect  me ;  I  had  no  home  to  go 
to,  with  a  mother's  welcoming  voice.     I  could  not  make 

177 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

true  friends,  because  I  was  unable  to  answer  those  two 
questions.  I  am  a  convict  to-day  because  I  do  not  know 
who  I  am  or  where  I  came  from  —  and  no  one  cares. 

God  have  pity  on  us,  for  we  know  not  what 
we  do.  Only  such  a  plea  makes  life  endurable 
after  such  a  story.  But  now  we  cannot  plead 
ignorance.  It  rests  upon  us  to  break  down  the 
high  walls,  the  barred  windows,  and  the  relent- 
less discipline  of  children's  institutions.  Past 
all  obstacles,  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  child  we 
must  penetrate.  We  women,  mothers  and  poten- 
tial mothers,  must  see  that  not  one  helpless  baby 
goes  uncherished.  Joy,  love,  and  gladness. 
These  are  the  new  notes  to  be  brought  into  insti- 
tutions. How  much  affection  does  each  child  re- 
ceive is  the  fundamental  question.  Surely  the 
women  of  the  United  States  will  answer  the  call 
and  go  hammering  at  the  doors  of  institutions, 
crying :  "  We  come  to  save  babies  from  becom- 
ing criminals.  We  come  laden  with  love.  No 
child  is  to  go  uncared  for.  An  unbroken  rank 
of  women  waits  ready  to  respond  to  every  call  of 
'  Wanted  —  A  Mother.'  " 


178 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

'  'TF  I  had  a  son,"  writes  a  convict,  "  and  there 

jL  was  no  way  to  support  him,  I  would  shoot 
him  rather  than  send  him  to  a  reformatory. 

"  I  was  sent  five  times.  The  first  time  I 
learned  to  -pick  pockets.  The  second,  to  creep 
behind  a  man  with  a  bat,  hit  him  on  the  head,  and 
take  his  money.  The  third,  to  stick  a  man  up 
with  a  gun  and  so  on  —  each  time  something 
new. 

"  Since  I  have  been  in  State's  Prison,  I  have 
spent  fourteen  months  in  the  cooler  (a  punish- 
ment cell ) .  While  there  I  learned  how  to  bloAV 
open  a  safe.  But  since  Tom  Brown  [Thomas 
Mott  Osborne]  came  to  prison  and  started  the 
Mutual  Welfare  League  I  have  dropped  every- 
thing, and  mean  to  make  good." 

Lawyers,  policemen,  and  judges  cannot  end 
crime.  When  we  hurry  trembling  across  a  dark 
street  late  at  night,  fearing  a  blow  on  the  head 
and  robbery,  or  shiver  in  our  beds  listening  for 

179 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

the  stealthy  step  of  a  burglar,  remember  that  two 
thirds  of  these  men  we  fear  were  in  children's 
institutions.  We  had  a  chance  to  reform  them 
but  didn't.  For  reformatories  don't  reform. 
They  punish  and  humiliate,  but  do  not  educate. 
To  remake  the  bad  boy,  life  in  an  institution  must 
fit  him  for  life  in  the  world.  There  must  be  love, 
work,  and  play  inside  because  these  are  in  the 
world  outside.  If  a  boy  can't  have  a  normal  life 
behind  walls,  how  can  he  live  normally  in  so- 
ciety? Institutions  do  not  recognize  this.  The 
child  is  cut  off  from  companionship,  his  home  — 
his  mother  —  the  love  that  remakes  him.  Let- 
ters and  visits  are  limited.  Kor  does  the  institu- 
tion teach  him  to  work  or  to  play. 

The  industrial  training  is  a  travesty.  These 
are  the  comments  of  convicts  now  in  Auburn  and 
Sing  Sing  who  w^ere  previously  in  reformato- 
ries: 

"The  industrial  department  of  the  reforma- 
tory was  sadly  neglected.  The  machinery  and 
tools  were  antiquated.  The  work  was  suited  to 
while  awav  time.  It  looks  as  though  the  author- 
ities  anticipated  the  future  of  the  inmates  and 
trained  them  accordingly.  A  trade  learned  in 
one  institution  could  be  resumed  in  another  but 

180 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

not  in  the  outside  world.  The  printing  and  ma- 
chine shop  employ  about  twenty  inmates  each. 
The  great  mass  of  boys  learn  nothing.  Over  one 
half  are  employed  in  domestic  service.'' 

And  this : 

"  I  worked  in  the  storeroom  and  matrons'  din- 
ing-room. I  can't  tell  about  the  trades  because 
the  only  thing  I  learned  was  to  wash  dishes,  scrub 
floors,  and  carry  a  bag  of  potatoes." 

And  this : 

"  The  industrial  training  was  no  good.  They 
taught  us  to  make  inmates'  shoes.  They  were  on 
the  same  style  as  brogans.  I  could  never  find 
work  of  that  kind  outside.  It  must  have  been  a 
bum  trade,  for  when  I  went  to  State's  Prison  I 
could  n't  get  work  there,  making  the  kind  of 
shoes  I  'd  made  at  the  reformatory." 

And  this : 

"  The  only  trade  they  taught  us  was  book- 
binding which  you  can't  use  when  you  get  out. 
I  got  a  job  at  it  once  for  a  half  hour,  then  the  boss 
kicked  me  out.  He  said :  *  If  I  was  a  book- 
binder —  he  was  a  farmer ! '  " 

When  the  child's  work  is  a  source  of  profit,  the 
institution  may  teach  him  something,  but  the 
price  paid  for  the  knowledge  is  frightful.     Hour 

181 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

after  hour  acliing,  childish  forms  bend  over  a 
dreary  task. 

"  I  worked  in  the  brush  shop.  I  was  supposed 
to  make  twelve  brushes  a  day.  Every  time  I 
made  one,  some  one  would  steal  it  to  fill  their 
own  task.  When  I  turned  in  my  w^ork  I  had 
only  three  brushes.  The  foreman  hit  me  over  the 
head  with  a  stick,  but  that  was  n't  all.  I  was 
taken  down  to  the  washhouse  and  beaten.  That 
was  how  I  started  to  steal.  When  I  was  sent 
back  to  the  shop  I  did  like  the  others.  I  stole  my 
brushes  whenever  I  could." 

The  educational  training  is  no  better.  I  know 
convicts  who  cannot  read  or  wTite.  The  com- 
ments on  the  school  work  are  as  follows : 

"  At  school  I  worried  over  the  beating  I  would 
get  for  missing  a  lesson.  I  couldn't  put  my 
mind  on  anything. 

"  The  teacher  was  incompetent.  He  put  an 
example  on  the  board  and  called  on  a  boy  to  do  it. 
If  he  failed  he  ordered  him  to  get  on  his  knees 
and  gave  him  ten  raps  with  a  switch. 

"  The  fifth  class  was  known  as  the  blockhead 
class.  The  officer  in  charge  was  called  the 
^  Boob.'  All  the  boys  made  fun  of  him.  The 
only  thing  he  knew  was  his  prayers. 

182 


Only  potentially  bad,  but  they  are  apt  pupils  of  the  vicious  boys 

to  be  found  in  everv  institution 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

"  The  school  curriculum  is  a  travesty  on  peda- 
gogical principles.  The  main  occupation  is  cut- 
ting pictures  out  of  magazines  to  adorn  composi- 
tion papers." 

The  average  institutional  visitor  sees  nothing 
of  all  this  and  is  deceived.  He  beholds  a  group 
of  well-washed  children ;  the  band  plays,  the  chil- 
dren drill,  there  is  a  good  lunch,  and  the  officials 
are  zealously  attentive.  But  beneath  this 
polished  surface,  childish  hearts  are  being  tram- 
pled on  and  ignorant,  untaught  children  turned 
into  bitter,  revengeful  boys.  Neither  the  drill 
nor  the  band  is  popular.     This  is  why : 

"  There  were  three  yards,  and  each  yard  had 
to  drill  for  a  flag  which  was  given  to  the  best 
drilled  company.  The  companies  that  did  n't 
wdn  knew  what  was  coming  to  them.  Each  boy 
got  a  beating ! 

"  The  institutional  band  is  frequently  a  source 
of  profit.  It  furnishes  music  at  numerous  enter- 
tainments, and  the  authorities  receive  for  such 
service  five  or  ten  dollars.  The  children  get  noth- 
ing, but  are  beaten  when  they  do  not  play  well.'' 

One  institution  I  visited  emphasized  its  indus- 
trial training.  It  had  a  thousand  boys  and  I 
found  only  250  engaged  in  industry.     There  were 

185 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

twenty-four  boys  in  the  carpenter  shoi).  During 
their  two  years'  term  they  were  the  only  ones  to 
learn  carpentry.  It  was  too  much  trouble  to 
break  in  new  pupils. 

The  work  was  decorative  rather  than  substan- 
tial —  a  training  that  did  not  fit  a  boy  to  compete 
in  that  trade  in  the  outside  world.  It  was  the 
same  in  the  other  industries,  while  the  majority 
of  the  children,  seven  hundred  or  more,  per- 
formed domestic  labor.  They  washed  dishes, 
made  beds,  scrubbed  floors,  or  idled. 

In  the  course  of  my  inspection,  I  passed  a 
cellar  door.  Cellars  will  always  bear  visiting. 
I  darted  in,  the  official  with  me  followed  hastily. 
There  was  n't  a  window  in  the  place.  It  was 
damp  and  dark.  By  the  light  of  the  open  door  I 
saw  forty  or  fifty  boys  ranged  about  the  wall.  It 
was  half-past  two.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  The  air  outside  was  full  of  spring 
sweetness.  "What  are  they  here  for?  "  I  asked. 
There  was  a  pause,  the  official  cleared  his  throat, 
then  inquired  feebly,  "  What  are  you  here  for, 
bovs?"  Still  silence.  This  time  a  restless 
silence.  Then  the  official  made  another  attempt. 
"  I  guess  the  boys  must  be  through  their  work 
and  waiting;  are  you  waiting,  boys?''     Out  of 

186 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

that  dark  hole  obediently  and  in  unison  came  the 
reply,  "  Yes,  sir.''  As  I  left  that  damp  and  deso- 
late place  these  lines  flashed  across  me : 

The  vilest  deeds,  like  poisoned  weeds,  bloom  well  in 
prison  air. 

Institutions  generally  seem  to  be  run  for  the 
benefit  of  the  keepers  rather  than  for  the  chil- 
dren. There  is  a  deadly  routine  about  them,  an 
unbelievable  monotony.  There  is  no  chance  for 
initiative.  Individuality  is  crushed  out.  The 
children  are  handled  like  merchandise.  They 
are  shoved  and  pushed  about  by  unfeeling  hands. 
They  live  in  grim,  ugly  buildings.  There  are 
barred  or  grated  windows,  great  dreary  corri- 
dors, bare  walls,  monotonous  rows  of  beds,  chairs, 
and  tables.  Morning,  noon,  and  night  there  is 
the  sound  of  shuffling  feet,  an  endless  procession 
of  blue-ginghamed,  or  gray -uniformed,  pale-faced, 
inanimate,  unsmiling  children.  A  bell  rings  and 
the  children  arise,  another  bell  rings  and  the 
children  sit  down.  Answers  to  questions  come 
from  a  hundred  throats  in  expressionless  uni- 
son. 

The  institutional  child  is  like  a  cog  in  a  ma- 
chine.    Detached  he  cannot  go  on  alone.     One 

187 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

day  a  convict  came  to  me  who  had  slept  for  three 
nights  on  a  park  bench.  He  was  as  helpless  as  a 
child.  He  wanted  to  make  good  and  did  n't 
know  how. 

"  At  ^Ye/^  he  said,  '^  I  was  sent  to  an  institu- 
tion. I  w^as  there  thirteen  years.  When  re- 
leased I  was  helpless.  I've  been  so  ever  since. 
I  'd  eaten  and  slejDt  to  order  too  long.  I  did  n't 
know  how  to  earn  bed  and  board.  There  w^as 
nothing  left  but  to  run  with  the  gang  and  steal. 
Last  night  I  was  desperate  and  went  to  the  police 
station  and  asked  to  be  locked  up  and  kept  out  of 
harm's  way  but  they  only  laughed.  What  can  I 
do?'' 

It  is  the  clever  bad  boy  who  flourishes  in  the 
gray  deadness  of  a  reformatory.  Out  of  the 
welter  of  misery,  with  cunning  and  strength,  he 
emerges.  It  is  a  case  of  the  survival  of  the 
fittest.  The  fittest  in  a  reformatory  is  the  bully 
and  the  degenerate.  He  usurps  the  play  space 
at  play  time,  and  dominates  wherever  he  goes. 
By  underground  methods  he  spreads  his  con- 
tamination and  stirs  to  action.  So  gangsters  and 
gunmen  are  made  and  society  pays. 

"  I  was  the  bully  of  the  yard,''  says  a  member 
of  such  a  gang.     ^^  I  used  to  get  from  ten  to 

188 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

twenty-five  dollars  a  month  from  the  boys.  I 
did  n't  keep  the  money.  I  shared  it  with  the 
keepers  who  let  me  go  to  the  mess-hall  and  drink 
beer  and  whisky  with  them." 

And  this  from  a  w^ell-known  gunman : 

"  The  worst  place  in  the  w^orld  for  any  mother's 

son  is  the  reformatory.     I  wouldn't  wish 

my  worst  enemy  to  undergo  what  I  went 
through. 

"All  the  New  York  City  gangsters  and  gun- 
men were  in  a  reformatory  in  boyhood.  A  few 
that  I  know  were  Jack  Zelig,  Kid  Twist,  Dopy 
Benny,  the  '  Paper  Box  Kid/  and  Dago  Frank. 
The  last  two  have  both  been  at  Sing  Sing." 

In  some  institutions  boys  are  appointed  moni- 
tors by  the  officers.  This  is  bad.  It  gives  power 
to  the  bully  as  is  shown  in  this  testimony  of  a 
gangster : 

"  The  monitor  system  should  be  abolished.  It 
is  a  reign  of  petty  tyranny  and  makes  gangsters 
and  bullies.  The  treatment  the  kids  are  sub- 
jected to  at  the  hand  of  the  monitors  is  satanic. 
None  but  the  w^orst  element  are  ever  appointed 
monitors  because,  being  the  leader  of  a  gang, 
they  can  enforce  discipline.  '  Might  is  right ' 
under  this  system.  For  infractions  of  the  rules 
or  alleged  infractions  the  monitor  can  beat  the 

189 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

kids.  It  can  easily  be  seen  the  terrible  wbip 
hand  he  has. 

"  Under  this  system  immorality  flourishes.  A 
kid  can  be  forced  to  anything.  He  has  to  sur- 
render his  bundles  from  home  and  even  his  food. 
If  he  dares  complain  it  is  only  the  worse  for 
him.'' 

The  other  day  an  ex-convict  who  was  a  gangster 
came  to  me.  He  was  just  out  of  State's  Prison, 
and  wanted  a  job.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  meant  to  go  straight. 

At  the  age  of  ten  he  was  sent  to  a  reformatory. 
Soon  he  and  eleven  other  boys  were  running  to- 
gether and  formed  a  small  gang.  After  three 
years  they  were  discharged.  There  came  a  few 
weeks  of  lawlessness  on  the  streets,  but  one  by 
one  they  all  turned  up  in  another  reformatory  — 
a  grade  further  on.  Soon  they  were  in  command 
of  a  yard.     My  narrator  explained : 

"  In  the  reformatory  it  was  gang  against  gang 
to  see  who  w^ould  be  the  up  of  the  yard.  One  of 
the  fellows  who  was  a  friend  of  mine  was  stabbed 
in  the  lungs.  All  they  did  for  him  was  to  put  a 
piece  of  plaster  on  the  cut  and  put  him  to  bed. 
The  next  day  they  had  him  up  waxing  the  floor. 
In  a  couple  of  days  he  w^as  dead.     The  fellow  who 

190 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

stabbed  Iiim  is  at  Sing  Sing  doing  seven  to  fif- 
teen years.'' 

This  is  true.  It  is  corroborated  by  twenty  dif- 
ferent witnesses,  including  tlie  man  doing  time  at 
Sing  Sing. 

This  gang  of  twelve  became  a  rough  set.  It 
was  their  second  reformatory  experience.  They 
performed  many  daring  deeds,  often  making  es- 
capes. The  leader  once  got  away  in  half  a  barrel, 
which  served  as  a  boat.  He  floated  for  some  time 
before  he  was  picked  up  by  a  tug. 

When  the  reformatory  term  expired  the  boys 
reassembled  in  New  York.  This  time  they  hired 
a  room.  They  had  all  acquired  the  drug  habit. 
It  was  their  one  pleasure. 

When  the  drug  gave  out,  first  one  then  another 
went  out  to  procure  more.  Eventually  they  were 
all  caught,  and  soon  were  serving  terms  in  the 
penitentiary  or  Elmira  reformatory.  Keleased 
from  these  institutions  their  sojourn  in  society 
was  brief.  Presently  they  were  all  together 
again  in  State's  Prison. 

To-day  nine  are  in  prison,  three  are  out,  none 
are  making  good,  and  one  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two  has  just  been  executed  at  Sing  Sing.  He 
killed  an  Italian  and  two  policemen.     Needless 

191 


SOCIETY^S  MISFITS 

to  say  these  murders  were  the  result  of  a  gang 
fight. 

Unless  we  remake  our  children's  institutions, 
gangsters  and  gunmen  will  flourish.  What  is 
needed  is  not  great  severity  but  more  love  and 
human  understanding.  Here  is  a  typical  story 
of  a  boy  who  became  a  gangster : 

"  I  was  sent  to  a  reformatory  and  put  to  work 
in  the  carpenter  shop  outside  the  walls.  I  got 
this  job  because  my  aunt  had  a  pull  with  the 
authorities.  One  day  I  ran  away,  but  after  fif- 
teen days  I  was  caught,  taken  back,  and  put  in 
a  dark  cell,  without  even  a  bed.  I  can  stand 
such  treatment  to-day  but  when  I  was  thirteen  it 
seemed  pretty  bad.  Next  day,  I  was  given  pun- 
ishment clothes.  These  are  full  of  patches  and 
make  you  look  like  a  ragamuffin.  Then  my  hair 
was  cut  cannibal  style.  A  piece  is  chopped  out 
here  and  there.  The  result  made  you  look  like  an 
idiot  and  caused  much  laughter.  Then  I  was 
sent  to  the  yard  to  stand  by  the  post  all  day.  At 
night  I  had  to  stand  in  the  dormitory  in  my  bare 
feet  for  three  hours.  But  that  was  n't  all. 
While  I  was  standing  by  my  bed  the  Director 
came  in  and  motioned  me  to  go  into  the  hall. 
All  I  had  on  was  a  thin  nightgown.     I  was  beaten 

192 


> 


c 


c 


c 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

on  the  back  and  shoulders  until  I  was  black  and 
blue.  My  aunt  came  to  see  me  and  I  told  her 
how  I  had  been  treated.  She  comj^lained  to  the 
Director,  and  through  her  influence  I  was  again 
put  into  the  carpenter  shop  to  learn  a  trade.  I 
might  say  here  that  they  don't  teach  anything. 
You  could  work  a  hundred  years  there  and  never 
learn.  At  that  time  I  was  very  anxious  to  take 
lessons  on  the  violin.  The  man  in  charge,  like  all 
the  others,  was  a  brute.  After  six  weeks,  I  said 
I  did  n't  like  music.  The  truth  is  I  was  crazy 
to  learn  but  could  n't  stand  the  keeper.  He  was 
often  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  I  have  seen 
him  carried  to  his  room.  This  man's  method  of 
teaching  was  to  stand  over  the  violin  and  choir 
boys,  and,  if  they  missed  a  note,  he  beat  them 
with  a  rod. 

"  This  method  of  teaching  was  also  used  in  the 
school.  If  you  got  an  example  wrong  you  were 
beaten.  When  I  entered  the  reformatory  a  boy 
friend  put  me  wise.  He  said :  '  Don't  be  too 
smart  when  examined.  Get  in  a  low  class  where 
you  can  be  sure  of  doing  the  work.'  I  followed 
his  advice  and  got  along  all  right. 

"  After  a  while  I  ran  away  again.  In  forty- 
five  days  I  was  caught.     I  landed  in  the  institu- 

195 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

tion  at  half-past  nine,  and  was  put  in  a  dark  cell. 
But  to  my  surprise,  the  next  morning  I  was  not 
punished.  I  think  my  aunt  must  have  interceded 
but  this  time  I  was  not  sent  outside.  I  was  put 
to  work  in  the  harness  shop.  The  foreman  in 
charge  was  not  fit  to  handle  beasts,  let  alone  boys. 
He  carried  around  with  him  a  leather  strap.  If 
he  didn't  like  your  work,  he  struck  you  across 
the  head. 

"  I  was  working  on  a  horse  trace  one  day  and 
could  not  keep  up  with  my  task.  The  boy  at  the 
table  with  me  was  sick  and  did  n't  make  the  wax 
cords  as  fast  as  usual.  The  foreman  asked  why 
I  had  n't  finished  mv  task.  I  told  him  I  did  n't 
feel  well.  He  did  n't  say  a  word  but  watched  me 
for  a  few  minutes,  then  struck  me  across  the  neck. 
I  seized  my  awl  and  tried  to  hit  him.  Then  he 
took  me  to  the  cellar  and  made  me  take  off  my 
shirt,  and  beat  me  until  he  was  played  out.  I 
went  to  the  shop,  sick  and  tired  of  life.  During 
the  night  I  tried  to  think  of  some  way  out.  The 
next  day  I  went  to  the  back  of  the  harness  shop, 
took  a  bottle  of  harness  ink,  and  swallowed  as 
much  as  I  could  hold.  That  was  all  I  remember 
until  I  came  to  at  eleven  that  night.  They  put 
me  in  a  special  bed,  called  in  two  doctors,  and 

196 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

worked  over  me  nine  hours.  I  often  wonder  why 
I  did  not  die.  They  said  I  had  swallowed  enough 
poison  to  kill  a  horse.  When  I  got  better  the 
Director  sent  for  me.  He  asked  why  I  had  tried 
to  kill  myself.  He  patted  me  on  the  head  and 
smiled.  I  stood  there  looking  at  him,  wishing  to 
God  I  had  the  strength  to  spring  at  him  and 
strangle  him  until  he  was  blue  in  the  face.  Any- 
way I  was  taken  out  of  the  harness  shop  and  given 
a  job  in  the  yard  sweeping  leaves  and  taking  care 
of  the  grass  plots. 

'^  In  the  meantime  my  aunt  came  to  see  me. 
I  told  her  my  trouble,  but  the  Director  came  in 
and  said  I  had  a  melancholy  disposition.  He 
said  I  had  swallowed  a  little  ink  but  it  had  n't 
hurt  me.  He  patted  me  on  the  head  and  said  to 
come  to  him  for  anything  I  needed.  My  aunt  be- 
lieved in  him,  for  though  he  was  a  brute,  he  had 
polished  manners  and  was  a  suave  talker. 

"  Then  I  made  a  third  and  last  escape.  After 
two  months  I  was  caught.  It  was  the  same  old 
story,  a  dark  cell,  a  beating,  and  standing  in  the 
yard. 

"  But  this  time  I  was  older  and  my  term  ex- 
pired. 

''  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  wrote  anything 

197 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

so  long.  Wlien  I  entered  prison,  I  took  an  oath 
that  if  I  lived  to  be  a  thousand  years  old  I  would 
never  again  attempt  to  do  anything  honest,  or 
have  anything  to  do  with  anybody  that  was  hon- 
est. I  had  a  bitter  feeling  against  society,  but 
when  you  asked  me  to  write  my  story,  I  went  to 
my  cell,  and  did  some  hard  thinking.  I  thought 
of  the  fact  that  you  spent  a  week  in  a  woman's 
prison  voluntarily,  and  that  convinced  me  that 
you  were  on  the  level,  and  I  decided  to  write  this. 
I  have  seen  reformers  come  and  go,  I  have  seen 
investigating  committees  come  and  go,  and,  be- 
lieve me,  they  have  never  accomplished  much. 

"  Our  Chaplain  is  lecturing  on,  ^  Why  men  and 
women  go  to  prison,'  but  neither  the  Chaplain 
nor  any  one  else  can  tell  why  peojjle  go  to  prison, 
unless  they  go  into  the  big  cities  and  reforma- 
tories and  study  conditions.  You  let  a  man  out 
of  prison  who  has  been  taught  nothing  and  he  gets 
in  trouble.  Then  societv  drives  him  in  again, 
and  asks  why  does  n't  he  reform.  It 's  impos- 
sible. An  ex-convict  can't  get  work.  He  is  put 
out  of  theaters,  put  off  street-cars,  and  not  al- 
lowed to  go  on  the  principal  thoroughfares.  Can 
you  blame  him  for  adhering  to  the  criminal 
class?" 

198 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

Small  wonder  this  boy  turned  a  gangster.  He 
had  faced  death,  and  he  feared  nothing.  He  had 
been  beaten  and  abused  and  taught  nothing. 
His  only  friends  were  his  gang-mates.  He  lined 
up  with  them  against  society.  But  the  gang 
spirit  in  itself  is  a  valuable  asset.  It  can  be 
turned  to  good  account  instead  of  to  evil.  The 
group  spirit  can  be  used  to  protect  instead  of 
destroy  society.  If  those  in  authority  say  it  can't 
be  done,  if  they  say  the  reformatory  boy  is  vicious 
and  human  methods  are  impracticable,  don't  be- 
lieve  them.  Sing  Sing  has  been  transformed  by 
inspiring  men  with  the  ideal  of  mutual  welfare. 
Fifteen  hundred  convicts  march  in  to  meals  un- 
accompanied by  keepers  or  guards.  They  talk 
together  while  they  eat,  they  work  and  play  to- 
gether. There  has  n't  been  a  riot  in  over  a  year, 
not  since  self-government  was  established. 
There  are  no  beatings  or  punishment  cells.  The 
men  discipline  themselves.  This  is  done  by  a 
convict  court.*  There  are  five  convict  judges. 
Every  afternoon  at  four  court  assembles  in  the 
shabby  old  chapel.  The  judges  sit  on  the  plat- 
form; directly  below  and  in  front  stands  the  of- 
fender. The  chapel  is  crowded  with  spectators, 
convicts  and  visitors ;  all  are  welcome.     One  day 

199 


SOCIETY^S  MISFITS 

a  colored  man,  a  prize  fighter,  was  brought  before 
the  tribunal  for  assault.  He  was  a  husky  fellow 
who  performed  heavy  prison  labor.  In  return 
for  his  hard  task  once  a  week  he  received  a  beef- 
steak. Beef-steak  night  was  a  gala  occasion. 
This  was  the  day  after  and  he  had  been  charged 
with  hitting  a  colored  friend.  The  man  who  had 
been  hit  spoke  first. 

"  It  was  this  way,  gentlemen :  I  had  a  can  of 
beans,  Ise  took  '  em  to  the  kitchen  to  warm,  and 
when  I  goes  to  fetch  the  beans  de  kitchen  gen- 
tleman handed  out  a  beef -steak  and  fried  pota- 
toes. Just  naturally,  I  was  n't  going  to  refuse 
that  beef -steak." 

"What  is  your  story?  "  inquired  the  Court  of 
the  prize-fighter.     The  prize-fighter's  eyes  rolled. 

"  Well,  ye  see,  gentlemen,  I  'd  been  saving  up 
for  that  beef -steak.  I  had  n't  eaten  anything  all 
day.  When  I  goes  to  the  kitchen  it 's  gone.  I 
could  n't  stop  thinking  about  it.  I  dreamed  of 
that  beef-steak  and  potatoes,  and,  naturally, 
when  I  gits  up  next  mornin'  I  goes  for  that  feller 
and  gives  him  a  biff." 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  among  the  spec- 
tators. Each  felt  he  would  have  done  likewise. 
Even  the  participants  grinned.     The  humor  of 

200 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  GANG 

the  occasion  seized  them.  The  man  who  had 
been  hit  spoke  up :  "  Say,  your  honors,  Ise 
satisfied  if  the  other  feller  is.  I  got  the  beef- 
steak.'^ 

A  shout  of  laughter  greeted  this.  The  prize- 
fighter did  not  wish  to  be  outdone,  and  he  spoke 
up :  "  Ise  satisfied ;  I  give  the  biff."  This 
brought  down  the  house. 

The  Court  paused  reflectively,  then  issued  its 
verdict :     "  Time  —  shake  hands.'^ 

Amidst  general  merriment  the  two  colored  men 
joined  hands.  They  will  not  fight  again.  They 
and  all  present  had  learned  a  lesson  in  decency 
and  fair  play.  But  under  the  old  system  the 
men  would  have  been  clapped  in  a  dark  cell  in 
the  basement,  and  kept  there  for  five  days  on 
bread  and  water.  Day  by  day  hate  would  have 
grown  in  their  hearts.  When  released  they 
w^ould  have  flown  at  each  other.  There  might 
have  been  murder.  One  gang  w^ould  have  arisen 
against  another.  The  prison  w^ould  have  been 
filled  with  violence  and  bloodshed. 

If  such  kindly  understanding  methods  are  suc- 
cessful with  so-called  hardened  criminals,  surely 
boys  can  be  reclaimed.  One  convict  sums  up  the 
situation  in  this  way : 

201 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

^^  One  great  mistake  is  underestimating  the  in- 
telligence of  the  street  gamin.  He  has  reasoning 
power  far  beyond  what  he  is  credited  with.  A 
great  part  of  the  problem  lies  in  securing  per- 
sons who  really  understand  the  kid." 

These  things  women  understand.  They  have 
had  experience  in  the  nursery.  They  are  inter- 
ested in  details.  They  know  each  child  must  be 
treated  separately  and  as  an  individual.  There- 
fore it  rests  with  them  to  change  the  gray,  mo- 
notonous, factory-like  reformatories  into  homes. 
The  old  prison  method  of  punishment  and  re- 
venge must  be  abolished  and  a  new  method  which 
prepares  for  life,  substituted.  Institutional 
doors  must  be  thrown  open,  sunshine,  love,  edu- 
cation, and  responsibility  enter  in.  This  must 
be  done  for  society's  sake,  if  not  for  the  child's. 
Otherwise  we  will  have  untaught,  revengeful  boys 
uniting  in  gangs  to  plunder  and  murder.  Gang- 
sters and  gunmen  will  flourish  and  society  suffer. 


202 


THE  FATE  OF  A  KEFORMATORY  BOY 

'  'TTAPPY  JACK ''  was  the  man  wlio  awak- 
A  A  ened  my  interest  in  prison  reform.  He 
was  the  first  convict  I  visited.  I  had  come  aw^ay 
from  the  children's  court  in  despair.  Johnnie 
Jones  had  been  arrested  for  the  third  time.  Two 
terms  in  a  reformatorv  had  n't  reformed  him. 
Our  correctional  system  seemed  a  failure.  It 
w^as  then  I  first  determined  to  ask  prison  inmates 
who  had  been  institutional  children,  why  so  many 
institutions  were  failures. 

With  this  in  mind  I  made  my  first  visit  to 
Sing  Sing  Prison.  It  was  a  warm  spring  day 
at  the  end  of  April,  a  day  when  all  life  seemed 
suddenly  to  burst  into  blossom.  As  I  entered  the 
dingy  old  doorway  of  the  gray,  grim  building,  a 
prisoner  passed.  He  was  between  two  sturdy 
guards.  He  was  clad  in  the  gray  prison  uniform 
and  his  face  had  the  gray  prison  pallor.  But  be- 
neath the  gray  surface  was  a  man.  There  was 
quiet   dignity   in   his    bearing.     His   muscular, 

203 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

forceful  figure  was  wiry.  He  was  short  but 
powerful.  He  had  the  jaw  and  chin  of  a  fighter. 
The  guard  said  something  and  the  prisoner 
smiled,  a  radiant,  Irish  smile  that  made  the  blue 
eyes  shine,  a  smile  that  had  won  for  him  the  name 
of  "  Happy  Jack.-'  In  that  first  glance  I  felt 
this  is  a  man  to  help  me  with  my  problem.  He 
disappeared  into  the  Warden's  office  and  imme- 
diately I  asked  for  his  story.  Happy  Jack  was 
thirty-two  years  old.  His  first  arrest  was  at  the 
age  of  ten.  Since  then  he  had  served  several 
terms  in  reformatories  and  prisons.  He  was  now 
behind  the  bars  on  a  charge  of  murder.  He  was 
to  have  been  executed  but  twenty-four  hours  be- 
fore the  end  he  obtained  a  stay  on  the  ground  of 
newly  discovered  evidence.  Briefly  his  case  was 
this :  Late  at  night  three  men  entered  a  saloon, 
killed  an  unarmed  saloon-keeper,  and  attempted 
to  rob  the  till.  Happy  Jack  was  charged  with 
the  murder.  The  only  evidence  against  him  was 
a  note-book  bearing  his  name  found  near  the 
saloon,  and  a  confession  signed  by  Happy  Jack 
which  the  police  wrung  from  him  under  the  third 
degree.  Jack  claimed  he  did  not  know  what  he 
was  doing  when  he  signed  the  confession,  that  he 
did  it  under  the  influence  of  drugs.     He  said  he 

204 


FATE  OF  A  REFORMATORY  BOY 

had  an  alibi  and  could  show  he  was  n't  near  the 
saloon  the  night  of  the  murder.  Because  of  this 
his  case  had  been  reopened.  A  criminal  court 
judge  had  come  ui3  from  the  city  to  rehear  the 
case.  The  retrial  was  held  in  the  Warden's  of- 
fice and  I  secured  permission  to  attend  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

At  a  long  table  sat  "  Happy  Jack/'  and  beside 
him  an  officer  with  thick  wooden  club,  watching 
every  movement.  Across  the  table  sat  the  Judge, 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  four  detectives,  a 
brother  of  the  murdered  man,  some  prison  offi- 
cials, and  newspaper  reporters.  All  eyes  were 
on  the  prisoner  and  all  eyes  were  curious,  or  in- 
different, only  Jack's  lawyer's  were  friendly. 
To  his  fellowmen  the  man  in  gray  clothes  was  a 
queer  and  vicious  animal,  whom  they  prodded  to 
see  the  effect  produced.  The  Judge  leaned  across 
the  table  to  whisper  to  me,  "  The  man  is  a  typi- 
cal criminal,  I  want  you  to  watch  him.'' 

Every  one  was  on  his  guard  and  suspicious, 
only  "  Happy  Jack  "  was  serene.  Suddenly  the 
significance  of  the  scene  burst  upon  me.  A  hu- 
man being  was  fighting  for  his  life,  appealing  to 
a  stereotyped,  legal-minded,  noncomprehending 
body  of  men,  who  coldly  analyzed  and  judged. 

205 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

A  bitter,  up-hill  fight.     This  same  group  of  men 
had    once    before    heard    and    condemned    the 
prisoner  and  would  surely  do  so  again  to  vindi- 
cate  their   former    decision.     The    Judge   com- 
placently reviewed  his  own  case,  his  mind  already 
made  up.     The  prosecuting  attorney  did  his  work 
coldly  and  cleverly,  twisting  and  weighing  every 
word    the   prisoner   uttered.     The    perspiration 
stood  on  "  Happy  Jack's  "  brow.     He  continually 
moistened  his  lips  and  asked  for  water,  otherwise 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  strain  he  was  under. 
He  was  courteous  and  dignified  and  occasionally 
his  bright  smile  played  about  his  lips.     ^' Why 
did  n't  you  tell  that  story  to  your  attorney  at  the 
first  trial?''  inquired  the  Judge  at  one  point. 
"  Because,''  replied  the  prisoner  smiling  brightly, 
"  I  did  n't  tell  him  anything.     I  was  sore.     A 
pal  told  me,  Judge,  that  you  gave  me  my  attor- 
neys for  a  frame-up ;  he  said  you  had  a  grudge  and 
meant  to  do  me."     The  Judge  frowned.     ^^  That 
is  n't  so,"  he  snapped.     "  Surely  you  would  n't 
trust  the  word  of  an  ex-convict  rather  than  that 
of  a  judge?  "     A  quizzical  look  crept  into  the 
prisoner's  eyes;  then  it  changed  to  one  of  en- 
gaging frankness,  as   he   leaned   across   to  the 
Judge    and    addressed    him    as    man    to    man. 

206 


FATE  OF  A  REFORMATORY  BOY 

"  Why  sure,  your  Honor,  if  I  don't  think  the 
Judge  was  on  the  level."  A  little  gasp  went 
round  the  room.  Invigorating  as  a  gust  of  fresh 
air,  was  such  astounding  honesty  under  such 
handicap.  The  Judge  flushed,  then  in  an  irri- 
tated tone  flung  out,  ^'  To  prove  that  is  n  t  so,  to 
show  you  how  little  you  mean,  two  minutes  after 
I  sentenced  you  to  death  I  never  thought  of  you 
again.'' 

If  "  Happy  Jack  "  did  not  shrink,  I  did.  To 
condemn  a  man  to  death  and  never  think  of  it 
again  —  a  man  like  Happy  Jack.  I  looked  at 
the  prisoner ;  he  was  looking  at  me.  I  wondered 
what  he  w^as  thinking.  Suddenly  it  flashed  upon 
me  that  this  convict  stood  out  from  his  fellows, 
dignified,  poised,  tolerant,  with  a  wonderful  sense 
of  humor.  This  man  had  power  —  he  was  not  a 
weakling.  Whatever  wrong  he  had  committed,  it 
was  power  misdirected.  If  he  had  violated  so- 
ciety's laws  it  was  because  as  a  child  society  had 
neglected  and  abused  him. 

For  days  the  trial  dragged  on.  Sometimes  I 
listened,  sometimes  I  lost  patience.  No  one 
seemed  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  things.  Had  Jack 
lied  or  hadn't  he?    Was  this  piece  of  evidence 

207 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

true  or  wasn't  it?  Over  such  points  the  law- 
yers wrangled.  I  tried  to  make  the  District 
Attorney  realize  he  was  dealing  with  human  life, 
that  Jack  was  worth  saving,  that  he  was  n't  a 
coward;  that  the  murder  was  a  cowardly  one, 
that,  therefore,  Jack  had  n't  committed  it.  But 
he  did  n't  understand.  He  admitted  the  evidence 
of  guilt  was  slight,  but  protested  the  trial  was  a 
fair  one.  This  clean-cut,  active-minded  instru- 
ment of  the  law  was  as  cold  and  unyielding  as  a 
machine.  Only  twice  in  his  career  has  he  lost  a 
case  and  he  did  not  mean  to  lose  this  one. 

Even  the  prisoner  grew  weary.  He  asked  for 
a  private  hearing  and  offered  to  tell  the  Judge 
his  life  history.  But  a  judge's  business  is  to  ex- 
pound the  law  —  not  straighten  out  a  tangled 
human  life.  He  was  n't  interested.  He  did  n't 
desire  a  private  interview  with  a  "  dangerous 
criminal."  "  Happy  Jack "  understood.  He 
measured  his  judge  as  man  measures  man.  Per- 
haps, unconsciously,  the  Judge  realized  what  was 
going  on  in  the  convict's  mind,  for  he  grew  daily 
more  relentless.  At  frequent  intervals  he  at- 
tempted to  justify  his  feelings  by  announcing  that 
Jack  was  stamped  with  guilt  and  a  coward.     One 

208 


FATE  OF  A  EEFORMATORY  BOY 

day  he  leaned  across  to  me  and  said :  "  I  should 
like  to  witness  the  man's  execution,  and  watch 
his  face.     I  'm  so  sure  he  is  a  coward." 

So  this  perfectly  sound,  legal  jDroceeding  con- 
tinued, piling  up  insignificant  fact  upon  fact  un- 
til the  verdict  again  was  guilty.  And  all  the 
time  what  I  wanted  to  know,  what  society  ought 
to  want  to  know,  was :  "  Was  this  man  a  men- 
ace, or  could  he  be  saved  and  reformed?  Why 
had  he  gone  wrong?  Was  it  his  fault  or  ours? 
Had  he  ever  been  given  a  chance?  Had  he  been 
bent  crooked  and  might  he  be  put  straight,  or  was 
he  fundamentally  vicious?  "  I  secured  a  court 
order  and  began  to  visit  "  Happy  Jack  "  in  the 
death-house.  Little  by  little  I  learned  his  story. 
I  sat  in  a  chair  in  front  of  his  cell,  while  he  sat 
on  the  edge  of  his  cot,  grasping  the  iron  bars, 
and  gazing  out  at  me.  At  first  we  were  ham- 
pered by  the  surroundings.  It  was  hard  to  for- 
get time  and  place  and  who  we  were  and  talk  as 
one  human  being  to  another.  But  finally  it  came. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  he  could  be  of  service,  the  bar- 
riers were  down.  Little  by  little  I  got  the  story. 
Some  of  it  he  told,  some  of  it  he  wrote.  The  en- 
tire night  before  his  execution  w^as  spent  writing 
his  story  that  was  to  help  the  "  kids." 

209 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

The  last  time  I  saw  Jack  he  was  leaning  against 
the  bars  of  his  cell;  his  hand  above  his  head 
grasped  the  cold  iron;  his  body  was  pressed 
against  the  barred  door.  There  was  a  wistful 
smile  about  his  lips  and  in  the  deep  blue  eyes. 
We  had  talked  for  several  hours.  "  Good-by,"  he 
said  and  his  hand  shot  out  between  the  bars  and 
grasped  mine.  I  held  his  a  minute,  as  I  whis- 
pered :  "  Courage,  I  have  n't  given  up  yet.  I 
may  still  get  the  pardon.''  He  hated  to  have  me 
go.  I  was  the  last  link  with  the  outer  world, 
and  we  both  felt  instinctively  it  was  the  final 
visit.  His  eyes  searched  mine  and  into  them 
came  a  look  of  deep  understanding.  Again  he 
smiled  and  then  turned  away  and  I  crept  out  of 
the  door  of  the  death-chamber  with  sinking  heart. 
This  is  what  ''  Happy  Jack  "  wrote : 

Dear  Friend: 

It  ^s  two  A.  M.  Monday.  Only  a  few  hours  more  and 
they  come  for  me.  A  guard  stands  outside  my  cell  day 
and  night.  They  don't  want  me  to  end  it,  yet  they're 
going  to  kill  me.  Dying  is  n't  hard  —  it 's  the  waiting  — 
waiting  and  thinking.  Down  past  the  barred  cells  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor  is  a  little  door.  It  opens  into  the 
room  with  the  chair.  Several  men  have  gone  that  way 
since  I  've  been  here.  Big  Bill  went  last  week.  It 's  my 
turn  in  a  few  hours.     For  fifteen  months  I  've  been  locked 

210 


— «yffl-fflSKn!j»i^Mi^^fe- '  '■4-«ifif'.-:!»"i4!. .' 


A  prison  picture  of  Happy  Jack 


FATE  OF  A  REFOEMATORY  BOY 

in.  Been  lying  in  this  cell  waitin'  and  thinkin'.  God  — 
but  it  nearly  drives  a  man  crazy.  If  only  there  was  a 
place  to  walk,  but  in  a  cage  7x4  with  a  bed  there  ain't  no 
room  for  luxuries.  There 're  fifteen  of  us  in  the  death- 
house,  clinging  to  the  bars.  We  're  fed  and  watched  and 
one  by  one  we're  led  out.  Sometimes  a  man  goes  clean 
dippy.  That  man,  who  was  yellin'  in  the  padded  cell 
the  other  day  when  you  was  here,  was  one  of  us.  After 
a  while  he  came  round.  He  has  a  little  girl  and  got 
thinkin'. 

It's  a  terrible  thing  to  die  for  a  wrong  committed  by 
another,  but  it'll  be  a  relief  to  get  out  of  this.  There 
is  n't  much  more  time,  but  before  I  go  I  'm  doing  every- 
thing in  my  power  to  write  what  I  promised.  I  've  had 
a  lot  to  do  and  I  hope  you  won't  be  disappointed  if  my 
story  is  short.  I  have  been  writing  ever  since  early  Sun- 
day. I'm  sorry  I  distrusted  you  at  first.  But  you  will 
understand.  You  talked  so  friendly  with  the  Judge,  and 
a  man  who 's  once  been  in  prison  don't  trust  any  one. 

If  you  or  some  one  like  you  had  gotten  me  when  I  was 
a  kid,  I  would  n't  be  here  now,  but  I  'm  not  complaining 
as  my  life  was  only  a  joke.  I  had  to  fight  since  a  kid, 
getting  a  kick  and  a  punch  from  everybody,  and  I  hated 
everybody  until  I  seen  you  and  the  people  who  helped  me 
lately.  I  didn't  believe  there  was  a  good  man  in  the 
world,  but  now  I  'd  make  any  sacrifice  for  you.  I  'm  sorry 
we  didn't  meet  before  this  trouble.  You  are  doing  a 
God's  work  and  my  only  regret  in  going  is  that  I  can't 
help. 

I  have  read  the  book  you  gave  me  and  wish  to  say  it  is 
great  ["A  Bunch  of  Little  Thieves,"  by  Greenburg]. 
The  life  of  Michael  Roach  is  in  a  big  part  the  true  life 
of  the  poor  boy  of  to-day.     The  introduction  to  the  book 

213 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

cannot  be  beat.  I  quote :  "  In  reformatories,  whether 
for  old  or  young,  the  program  for  correction  has  been 
largely  based  upon  the  idea  of  physical  force  and  the 
fear  of  its  brutal  consequences.  In  reformatories  exist  — 
greed,  system,  system,  system.  They  are  dehumanizing 
institutions  where  the  individual  is  lost  in  the  mass. 

"  The  problem  of  the  bad  boy  is  not  apart  from  the 
problem  of  life  and  all  that  that  implies  and  it  cannot 
be  solved  by  those  who  do  not  understand  the  desires  and 
aspirations  of  the  human  race." 

That  is  all  true.  A  reformatory  helped  make  me  bad. 
No  one  ever  understood.  Often  I  did  things  just  for  ad- 
venture.    It  was  n't  the  "  swag  " —  it  was  the  fiction. 

I  'm  marking  off  parts  in  the  book  that  is  right.  Also 
I  'm  marking  parts  which  relates  to  the  boys'  thoughts 
and  feelings  when  arrested  and  sent  away.  If  there  ever 
was  a  reform  school  like  the  ideal  one  described,  it  would 
reform  anybody. 

You  asked  me  to  write  the  story  of  my  life,  so  I  '11  do  it. 
I  hope  it  helps  the  kids.  It  will,  if  some  one  reads  it  to 
them.  I  have  n't  much  time ;  I  '11  soon  have  to  pay  for 
the  crime  I  'm  here  for.  The  curtain  will  be  dropped  for 
me  to  get  prepared.  I  '11  have  to  hustle  so  I  can't  give 
you  many  tips  as  to  the  real  life  in  a  reform  school,  but 
I  '11  do  my  best. 

I  lived  on  the  upper  East  Side  of  Harlem.  My  people 
were  very  poor  and  many  times  I  went  to  bed  hungry. 
My  shoes  were  torn  and  sometimes  I  had  no  shoes.  I  eat 
bread  given  me  by  another  boy.  There  was  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Leonard  who  had  a  flock  of  pigeons.  I  used  to 
go  on  the  roof  to  see  him  fly  them,  and  I  thought  how  I 
would  like  to  have  one.  Finally,  a  woman  named  Simons, 
who  had  a  nephew  who  had  a  few  pigeons,  asked  me  to 

214 


FATE  OF  A  KEFORMATORY  BOY 

run  an  errand  and  she  gave  me  a  white  pigeon.  I  was 
overjoyed.  I  had  two  friends  and  made  them  part  own- 
ers. One  boy  took  care  of  it.  Our  white  pigeon  had  a 
wart  on  one  eye  and  wasn't  very  strong  because  of  the 
handling  we  gave  it.  It  got  worse  In  health.  One  day 
when  we  had  It  on  the  roof  and  threw  It  In  the  air  to  at- 
tract other  pigeons,  it  fell  down  a  chimney  and  got  cov- 
ered with  soot.  Then  we  gave  It  a  bath,  and  a  woman 
who  saw  us  felt  sorrow  and  bought  the  pigeon  for  twelve 
cents.  I  shared  the  twelve  cents  with  my  two  friends. 
Later  the  pigeon  died  and  the  woman  let  us  bury  It  in  the 
rear  yard. 

I  was  going  to  school  at  that  time  on  and  off,  though 
I  never  had  more  than  a  few  weeks'  schoolin'  altogether. 
Always  after  school  I  kept  tryin'  to  catch  a  pigeon.  I 
would  put  my  handkerchief  In  my  cap  and  fold  my  cap 
around  the  handkerchief  and  try  to  imitate  a  pigeon.  I 
did  this  to  coax  other  pigeons  to  me.  One  day  my  teacher 
bought  me  a  suit  of  clothes  and  some  shoes.  I  can  re- 
member that  day.  But  the  next  day  I  was  promoted  and 
I  lost  my  good  teacher.  I  got  a  rough  one  instead,  whom 
I  did  n't  like  and  after  that  I  played  truant.  When  I 
was  ten  I  stayed  at  home  very  little ;  I  lived  on  the  street. 

At  this  time  my  mother  moved  downtown.  I  got  ac- 
quainted with  a  boy  named  Eddie  and  went  home  less  and 
less.  Eddie  and  I  used  to  steal  pigeons,  and  that  was 
the  first  time  I  stole.  We  stole  common  pigeons  and  put 
them  in  Eddie's  backyard  and  he  trained  them.  Eddie 
did  n't  have  to  steal,  as  he  had  money,  but  he  liked  to. 
After  he  got  the  pigeons  trained,  he  called  me  in  his  yard 
to  see  the  difference  between  good  and  common  pigeons. 
His  brother  Charlie  had  good  ones  in  his  cellar,  they  are 
what  is  called  "  felights."    I  liked  these  pigeons  better 

215 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

than  the  ones  Ed.  had,  so  I  stole  the  brother's  pigeons  by 
climbing  over  the  fence  in  the  night.  I  put  them  in  an 
empty  apartment  next  door  to  where  my  family  lived. 
Then  I  let  a  boy  named  Joseph,  partners  in  with  me,  on 
the  pigeons.  Joseph  took  them  to  his  house.  One  day 
we  took  them  on  the  roof  and  some  of  them  got  away. 
Then  Joseph's  step-mother  cut  the  heads  off  the  remain- 
ing pigeons  and  cooked  them.  I  felt  very  bad,  but  I  stole 
lots  more.  One  night  at  138th  Street  three  of  us  boys 
went  on  a  pigeon  hunt.  One  of  the  boys  lit  a  cigarette 
"  butt "  he  found  and  a  man  saw  the  light  in  the  rear  yard 
where  we  were  and  caught  us  and  had  us  arrested.  That 
was  my  first  arrest.  I  was  scared.  They  took  me  to  a 
police  station.  After  a  while  a  policeman  beat  me  and 
let  me  go.  That  filled  me  with  hate  and  I  got  a  big  stick, 
meaning  to  kill  that  man.  Then  I  began  to  steal  things 
to  eat  regularly.  I  broke  into  a  fish  store  at  120th  Street 
and  Second  Avenue.  I  did  n't  get  anything,  but  I  can 
remember  even  now  finding  a  revolver.  It  was  the  first 
firearm  I  ever  had.  I  've  forgotten  what  I  did  with  it. 
I  remember  stealing  many  things  to  eat  all  through  my 
boyhood.  Finally  I  got  arrested  and  sent  to  the  Gerry  So- 
ciety. But  I  got  out  of  there  and  started  right  in  to  steal 
again.  The  fact  is,  I  had  to,  to  live.  Then  I  got  ar- 
rested and  sent  to  a  reformatory  and  there  I  learned  my 
real  crooked  career.  I  learned  burglary,  and  it  became 
my  ambition  when  I  got  out  to  steal  and  get  nice  clothes. 
Also  my  mind  had  been  corrupted.  At  14  years  of  age 
I  had  a  rotten  mind.  I  knew  more  immorality  than  most 
men  know.  In  a  reform  school  you  get  your  first  lessons 
in  real  stealing  and  you  try  it  out,  as  soon  as  you  are 
released.  Then  you  get  arrested  and  sent  back.  The 
book  you  gave  me  had  the  treatment  in  it,  that  a  boy 

216 


FATE  OF  A  REFORMATORY  BOY 

receives  at  a  reformatory  and  it  does  n't  help  him.  After 
the  Reformatory  comes  the  House  of  Refuge.  Here  you 
are  paroled  when  released.  If  caught  breaking  parole, 
you  may  get  sent  back  until  twenty-one.  After  the 
House  of  Refuge  comes  Elmira,  then  the  next  is  Black- 
well's  Island,  then  Sing  Sing  and  Auburn,  and  finally 
Dannemora  Prison.  Then  you  are  a  full  fiedged  thief. 
You  have  no  respect  for  any  one.  You  lose  God.  You 
have  no  conscience,  conscience  is  dead.  You  take  re- 
venge on  society  because  society  has  taken  revenge  on 
you. 

My  present  trouble  came  about  from  lack  of  food,  de- 
spair, because  deprived  of  things  other  men  and  boys  had, 
from  a  desire  to  have  decent  clothes,  not  just  clothes 
enough  to  cover  me,  and  from  the  bad  and  immoral  acts 
learned  me  by  men  and  women  when  a  boy.  Many  and 
many  a  time  I  was  hungry.  Many  a  time  I  was  wet  and 
cold.  I  had  no  way  to  dry  my  wet  feet,  but  to  wait  until 
they  dried.  Then  it  would  rain  again,  and  again  I  must 
stay  wet  for  hours.  In  the  meantime  I  was  knocked 
around  and  abused,  morally  and  physically.  When  sent 
away  it  was  the  same  —  I  was  abused.  You  are  made  to 
lie,  steal,  and  curse,  and  curse  you  can.  You  are  made  to 
distrust  all  people,  you  trust  no  one.  The  only  law  you 
know  is  the  law  of  the  underworld.  You  have  to  be  al- 
ways on  your  guard.  You  have  to  look  out  for  the  police, 
for  citizens,  for  the  people  you  are  going  to  take  advan- 
tage of,  and  for  the  stool  pigeon.  You  have  to  be  on 
your  guard  for  what  is  termed  "  rats "  (burglar  alarm) 
and  for  dogs.  You  are  nothing  but  a  haunted  and  hunted 
beast  of  a  man.  You  have  no  life.  If  you  had  gotten 
me  and  trusted  me  fully  I  don't  think  I'd  have  gone 

217 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

back  on  you.  I  wouldn't  have  stolen  unless  you  done 
something  to  test  me  out.  Sometimes  I  've  stolen  to  give. 
Once  I  got  in  trouble  because  I  stole  to  help  a  married 
man  pay  his  rent.  I  've  been  arrested  for  stealing  for 
the  fun  of  stealing  and  for  stealing  because  I  had  to 
steal  to  live,  the  court  don't  care  which.  God  knows  I  'm 
sick  of  it.  I  'd  like  to  help  the  kids.  My  kind  of  life 
only  means  heartache,  torture,  and  disgrace.  Remember 
that  in  every  Reform  School  there  is  boys  with  good  in- 
stincts as  well  as  bad.  Separate  the  good  from  the  bad 
and  put  the  bad  little  ones  with  older  boys  who  are  good. 
Then  you  will  bripg  them  around.  At  the  House  of  the 
Good  Shepherd,  keep  the  girls  sent  there  from  home  sepa- 
rated from  the  ones  sent  there  for  prostitution.  You  can 
work  on  both  separately  and  make  good.  Above  all,  trust 
the  kids  and  teach  them  to  trust  you. 

I  'm  sorry  I  can't  get  out  to  assist  you  in  your  work. 
I  did  n't  suppose  I  'd  land  here.  I  never  thought  they 
could  put  it  over  on  me.  I  ain't  an  angel.  There 're  no 
two  wings  on  me,  but  I  don't  murder  an  unarmed  man  in 
the  dark ;  if  I  'm  out  to  kill  I  fight  in  the  open.  Some- 
times it  seems  as  though  you  have  to  kill,  for  the  Law  and 
the  courts  don't  give  a  convict  justice.  What  else  is  there 
to  do  with  a  stool-pigeon  —  a  man  who  goes  back  on  his 
pals? 

As  for  a  man  who 's  a  convict  getting  justice  in  his 
own  case,  it  ain't  possible.  Once  have  a  record,  even  a 
reformatory  record,  and  the  police  are  after  you  for  every- 
thing done  in  the  neighborhood.  It  is  easy  to  believe  the 
Judge  did  n't  like  me  when  the  first  remark  he  passed 
was :  "  You  have  a  bad  face.  You  look  like  a  criminal 
and  the  world  would  be  better  off  without  you."     That 

218 


FATE  OF  A  REFORMATORY  BOY 

made  me  hot  under  the  collar  and  I  wouldn't  talk  to  my 
lawyers,  nor  say  a  word  at  the  trial,  nor  go  on  the  stand. 
But  g-ee  —  I  didn't  see  what  they  had  on  me. 

Well,  I  've  kept  me  word  and  wrote  what  I  promised. 
I  hope  you  get  it  O.K.  It  is  n't  what  I  'd  liked  to  have 
done,  but  the  time  was  very  short.  It 's  after  four  A.  M. 
and  me  fingers  is  sore,  but  here  I  am  still  at  it.  I  wrote 
since  Sunday  afternoon.  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness 
and  all  you  did  in  my  behalf.  I  know  if  a  pardon  could 
have  been  got,  you  would  have  gotten  it.  But  don't  worry 
for  I  'm  not  of  much  use.  It 's  awful  easy  to  aggravate 
me  and  sometimes  I  lose  my  head  completely.  Do  you 
think  it  would  be  worth  while  to  save  me?  Don't  you 
see  all  the  things  I  've  done  ?  I  'm  sorry,  of  course,  but 
do  you  think  that 's  an  excuse  ?  Do  you  think  that 
squares  me  for  the  way  I  have  acted  ?  You  say,  be  brave. 
I  '11  be  that  alright.  I  can't  get  over  the  Judge's  telling 
you  he  thought  I  was  afraid.  No  man  likes  being  locked 
in  this  kind  of  a  hell ;  but  I  'm  not  a  coward.  I  'm  glad 
you're  going  to  write  to  the  papers  the  day  I  die,  tellin' 
them  you  believe  in  me.  Gee !  how  I  would  like  to  see  that 
letter.  You  can  bet  I  '11  prove  the  Judge  a  liar  by  dying 
brave. 

Again  I  thank  you  for  what  you  done.     Good-by,  and 
may  God  bless  you  and  always  be  with  you. 

Yours  in  gratitude, 

(Signed)     Jack. 

P.  S.    I  wish  you  had  gotten  me  when  I  was  a  kid,  I  'd 
be  a  different  man. 

P.  S.     Don't  feel  bad  —  be  of  good  heart  and  God  bless 
you  — '  farewell. 

"  Happy  Jack." 
219 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

During  the  few  days  between  the  trial  and  the 
execution  I  did  everything  in  my  power  to  secure 
a  commutation  of  sentence,  the  changing  of  the 
death  sentence  to  life  imprisonment.  I  went  to 
the  Governor,  but  all  in  vain.  The  rehearing 
had  been  fair  and  when  Judge  and  District  At- 
torney oppose  clemency,  it  is  an  unwritten  law 
that  none  may  be  granted.  I  traveled  back  to  the 
District  Attorney.  As  I  made  my  way  to  his 
office,  an  assistant  attorney  brushed  against  me 
laughing  and  held  out  an  engraved  card.  It  was 
an  invitation  to  the  execution.  "  Had  one  yet?  '' 
he  inquired.  I  could  only  turn  away,  sick  at 
heart.  Here,  too,  my  errand  was  a  failure. 
What  was  left?  Public  opinion,  the  newspapers. 
Then  began  a  weary  round.  I  sought  the  leading 
dailies,  only  to  be  politely  told  they  were  n't  in- 
terested. My  story  was  n't  news.  The  day  Jack 
was  executed  they  would  print  anything  I  wrote 
but  not  before.  Never  had  I  felt  so  helpless.  A 
human  life  was  at  stake  and  I  could  n't  make  a 
ripple  on  the  placid  progress  of  affairs.  Deep 
in  my  heart  I  knew  the  mother  hearts  would  have 
understood  and  answered  if  I  could  have  reached 
them.     They  would  have  seen  what  I  saw.     The 

220 


FATE  OF  A  KEFORMATORY  BOY 

awakening  of  a  human  soul,  the  need  of  per- 
mitting this  awakened  soul  to  render  the  service 
that  w^as  in  him,  before  cleaning  the  slate. 

As  the  time  of  execution  drew  near  the  stupid- 
ity of  what  society  in  its  ignorance  w^as  doing 
w^eighed  too  heavily  and  I  ran  away.  But  before 
I  left  the  State  I  sent  a  letter  to  every  paper  to  be 
printed  with  the  account  of  the  execution.  In  it 
I  told  about  the  "  Happy  Jack  "  I  knew.  I  spoke 
of  his  ability,  his  humanness,  and  said  w^e  should 
have  used  him.  I  pointed  out  that  we  let  the 
diseased  and  degenerates  live,  but  kill  a  young, 
forceful,  intelligent,  and  virile  man.  And  last  I 
spoke  of  his  courage.  I  declared  he  w^ould  die 
bravely,  that  he  w^as  not  a  coward.  Was  such 
confidence  on  a  three  weeks'  acquaintance  haz- 
ardous? I  think  not.  Some  things  we  know  in- 
stinctively and  surely.  Each  little  act  of 
"  Happy  Jack,"  however  far  wrong  he  may  have 
gone,  marked  him  a  man. 

On  Monday,  May  19,  within  an  hour  after  he 
had  finished  his  letter  to  me  the  end  came.  In 
the  Evening  Journal  appeared  the  following 
headline : 


223 


SOCIETY^S  MISFITS 

"Happy  Jack"  Dies  in  Chair  With  a  Smile  —  Woman 

Defends  Him. 

May   19th.     "  Happy  Jack,"   convicted   of  the  murder 

of  Paddy  B ,  a  saloon-keeper,  went  cheerily  to  death  in 

the  electric  chair  to-day.  He  was  easily  the  most  com- 
posed and  pleasant  victim  that  ever  sat  in  the  fatal  chair. 

He  began  his  last  short  trip  down  the  hall  just  eleven 
minutes  before  six  o'clock.  Fourteen  men  who  had  been 
condemned  to  the  same  sort  of  death  were  in  the  cells 
near  him.  The  curtains  had  been  drawn  before  their  cells 
when  Jack  started  but  through  the  gloom  there  came  his 
cheery  voice,  calling  good-by  to  the  remaining  fourteen. 

The  Reverend  Father  attended  him.  As  they  walked 
together  to  the  death  chamber.  Jack  bore  a  crucifix.  He 
heard  the  mufiled  reply  that  came  from  the  death  cells  as 
he  called  good-by  and  stepped  into  the  execution  room  at 
5 :49  o'clock.  At  5 :50  he  was  strapped  in  the  chair.  The 
current  was  switched  on  at  5 :50  and  left  for  one  minute. 
The  second  and  third  shocks  were  not  given  and  the  body 
responded  but  once  to  the  charge.  Even  then  it  found 
Jack  wearing  a  smile.  He  came  into  the  room  smiling  and 
his  last  words  as  he  sat  in  the  death  chair  were: 

"  Tell  them  I  'm  not  afraid." 

The  warm  days  have  come  again  and  with  them 
the  anniversary  of  Happy  Jack's  execution,  that 
moment  when  he  was  snuffed  out  like  a  candle. 
But  out  of  that  tragedy  has  come  gladness  w^hen 
I  journey  back  to  the  grim  old  prison.  It  is  no 
longer  wdth  sadness,  for  in  two  short  years  a 
change  has  taken  place  —  a  change  beyond  be- 

224 


FATE  OF  A  REFORMATORY  BOY 

lief.  Jack's  life  was  not  lived  in  vain.  It  was 
liis  story  I  took  to  George  W.  Kircliwey,  then 
Dean  of  the  Columbia  Law  School,  and  he, 
greatly  stirred,  went  to  Thomas  Mott  Osborne, 
already  absorbed  in  jjrison  problems.  Through 
these  men  a  New  York  State  Prison  Reform  Com- 
mission was  appointed  with  Mr.  Osborne  as  chair- 
man. The  work  that  Mr.  Osborne  has  since  done 
has  become  an  old  story.  His  appointment  as 
w^arden  of  Sing  Sing,  the  establishment  of  the 
Mutual  Welfare  League  and  self-government  is  a 
tale  famous  from  coast  to  coast.  And  through 
Mr.  Osborne  it  was  possible  for  me  to  get  from 
the  men  in  Sing  Sing  and  Auburn  prisons  the 
story  of  their  boyhood  in  reformatories,  stories 
that  have  stirred  woman's  heart  and  brought 
ready  help  from  every  State  in  the  Union.  For 
a  new  spirit  has  awakened  toward  society's  de- 
linquents whose  fullest  expression  is  to  be  seen  at 
Sing  Sing.  If  you  look  over  the  high  walls  in 
the  late  afternoon  on  these  w^arm  summer  days 
you  will  see  men  moving  freely  about  and  talking. 
Work  is  over  and  the  men  are  playing  baseball 
or  tennis  or  gather  in  little  groups  discussing 
right  and  wrong.  The  pigeons  that  ^'  Happy 
Jack"  loved  so  well,  that  he  shared  even  his 

225 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

scanty  prison  food  with  them,  hover  low  over  the 
old  buildings.  A  spirit  of  brotherhood  and  up- 
rightness pervades  the  place.  There  is  but  one 
regret,  that  is  that  "  Happy  Jack  "  may  not  see  it. 
But  who  knows,  perhaps  his  released  spirit  has 
taken  refuge  in  the  breast  of  the  nesting  pigeons, 
who  brood  so  serenely  on  the  gray  grim  walls. 


226 


THE  REFORMATOEY  THAT  REFORMS 

^'IVTOBODY  raised  me,  I  just  growed!"  is 
±\  the  Tops  J  form  of  education.  The  re- 
verse is  institutionalism  or  suppression.  In 
neither  case  is  the  result  desirable.  But  last 
summer  I  found  an  institution  that  produces 
neither  a  Toi)sy  nor  institutionalized  child,  but  a 
valuable  citizen.  This  does  not  mean  there  are 
not  other  institutions  doing  excellent  work.  Be- 
tween the  evils  of  the  worst,  and  the  virtues  of 
the  best,  lies  a  great  gulf.  Every  State  has  at 
least  one  institution  to  be  proud  of,  where  earn- 
est men  and  women  with  untiring  zeal  have 
wrought  wonders.  The  grim,  gray,  walled-in  re- 
formatory with  barred  windows  and  cruel  punish- 
ments had  given  place  to  a  stretch  of  open  coun- 
try, dotted  with  gay  cottages  where  kindly  treat- 
ment prevails. 

These  model  institutions  have  acres  of  rolling 
farm  land,  fresh  green  lawns,  straight  gravel 
paths,  picturesque  cottages,  fluttering  curtains, 

227 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

immaculate  white  tablecloths  and  real  china  for 
the  "  kiddies."  The  effect  is  magnificent,  one's 
heart  swells  with  pride,  this  we  say  is  America 
at  its  best.  But  these  model  institutions  usually 
have  one  grave  defect.  It  exists  in  the  best  hos- 
pitals as  well  as  the  best  institutions.  Doctors 
have  discovered  it.  It  is  that  shining,  white, 
sterilized  beds  do  not  always  cure  curable  pa- 
tients. Why?  Because  the  soul  as  well  as  the 
body  needs  treatment.  Man  has  attempted  by 
outer  perfection  to  transform  the  spirit  and  it 
can't  be  done.  When  your  boy  rescues  a  bird 
from  a  snake,  fights  for  fair  play,  protects  his  lit- 
tle sister,  tries  to  serve  the  community,  is  wild 
with  excitement  over  a  new  discovery,  or  creeps 
into  mother's  arms  at  night  for  love,  these  mo- 
ments transform  him  and  make  him  a  man. 
These  moments  the  institutional  child  rarely  has. 
But  I  found  a  reformatory  that  had  discovered 
the  secret.  It  was  by  chance  I  stumbled  upon  it. 
I  was  in  England,  absorbed  in  the  war.  I  had 
been  talking  democracy  with  a  nephew  of  the 
Earl  of  Sandwich,  when  he  said,  "  Visit  our  Lit- 
tle Commonwealth  if  you  want  to  see  real  democ- 
racy." I  opened  my  eyes  wide.  Earls  and  earls' 
sons  and  nephews  don't  usually  go  in  for  democ- 

228 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

racy,  but  I  accepted  liis  invitation.  He  was 
chairman  of  the  executive  board.  On  the  board 
of  managers  were  such  people  as  Earl  Grey,  the 
Duchess  of  Marlborough,  the  Earl  of  Sandwich 
[since  this  has  been  written  the  ncAvs  has  come  of 
the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Sandwich],  and  many 
other  notables. 

I  journeyed  down  to  Dorchester.  It  was  a 
w^arm  summer's  day,  with  patches  of  blue  sky, 
gray  clouds,  and  intense  peace.  War  seemed  an 
absurdity.  Mr.  Homer  T.  Lane,  the  superintend- 
ent of  the  Little  Commonwealth,  met  me  at  the 
quaint  English  station  with  his  motor-car.  Mr. 
Lane,  by  the  way,  is  an  American,  which  may  ac- 
count for  some  of  the  democracy.  At  first  I  was 
absorbed  in  the  scenery,  the  well-ordered  farms, 
the  thatched  cottages,  the  serenity  and  routine 
of  English  country  life,  and  I  gave  Mr.  Lane 
scant  attention.  It  was  the  motor-car  roused 
me.  It  was  feeling  its  way  along  the  road  like  a 
thing  alive.  Suddenly  as  if  tired  of  civilization 
it  shot  out  across  the  fields  with  a  little  puff  of 
contentment.  It  butted  its  nose  against  a  gate 
and  with  a  chug  of  conquest  darted  through. 
Then  I  looked  at  the  driver.  It  was  a  disreputa- 
ble old  car  all  banged  and  scarred,  but  it  w^as 

229 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

human.  It  had  as  much  spirit  and  character  as 
an  animal.  I  began  to  wonder  about  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  a  man  who  could  make  even  a  Ford 
car  human.  Long  before  our  destination  was 
reached  I  knew  that  the  children  under  his  care 
would  not  be  cogs  in  a  machine.  We  climbed  a 
hill  and  slid  down  another,  in  happy-go-lucky 
fashion,  and  turned  into  an  open  gate.  There 
was  no  form  of  reception,  no  rows  of  children  and 
a  brass  band.  Visitors  at  the  Commonwealth 
are  a  common  occurrence :  mothers,  relatives, 
strangers,  all  are  welcome,  at  all  times.  I  saw 
a  big  farm  dotted  with  cottages.  Everywhere 
doors  and  windows  were  open.  There  were  boys 
working  in  the  fields,  a  girl  in  a  doorway  shaking 
a  rug,  and  some  tiny  children  playing  on  a  lawn. 
Every  now  and  then  there  were  snatches  of  song 
and  gay  childish  laughter,  and  everywhere  the 
hum  and  buzz  of  voices.  The  place  w^as  alive  — 
like  the  auto,  it  had  meaning. 

Presently,  I  and  my  bag  were  deposited  at  a 
cottage  door.  Some  small  girls  surrounded  me. 
One  took  me  to  a  tiny  room,  her  own  turned  over 
to  me.  The  diminutive  bed  and  chair  made  me 
feel  a  child  again  among  children.  That  was  the 
beauty  of  the  place,  you  became  one  of  the  family. 

230 


Connie  and  two  of  her  babies 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

I  stayed  for  three  days.  I  saw  the  "  kiddies  " 
in  their  every-day  life ;  I  figuratively  looked  under 
the  beds,  in  all  the  cupboards,  and  searched  the 
children's  hearts  and  could  find  nothing  wrong. 
The  children  paid  little  heed  to  me.  They  were 
busy  with  their  own  tasks,  but  they  possessed  true 
hospitality.  They  gave  me  my  freedom.  Even 
yet  each  child  stands  out  as  an  individual.  There 
was  no  herding  together  in  a  colorless  institu- 
tional mass. 

The  children  ranged  in  age  from  thirteen  to 
seventeen.  They  were  chiefly  products  of  the 
London  Children's  Courts.  They  had  been  con- 
victed of  theft,  assault,  or  had  been  in  danger  of 
becoming  morally  depraved.  Some  records  w^ere 
bad.  Mr.  Lane  has  a  preference  for  a  boy  or  girl 
whom  the  ordinary  reformatory  rejects.  He  be- 
lieves in  the  theory  that  children  with  great  en- 
terprise for  evil  have  equal  capacity  for  good. 
He  pointed  to  his  three  oldest  girls  and  told  their 
story.  Each  now  occupies  a  position  of  honor  as 
a  cottage  housekeeper.  Their  crimes  had  been 
shoplifting.  At  the  time  of  arrest  they  were  only 
fifteen.  They  were  almost  women  in  size  and 
considered  a  menace.  In  court  they  were  closely 
guarded  by  a  matron  and  policemen.     During 

233 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

trial  thej  had  been  in  prison  in  the  Women's  De- 
tention House.  Mr.  Lane  was  in  court.  His  be- 
lieving heart  and  understanding  eyes  discovered 
possibilities  no  one  else  saw.  He  asked  that  the 
delinquents  be  sent  to  the  Commonwealth.  The 
Judge  hesitated.  He  thought  the  delinquents  too 
wicked.  At  last  he  consented.  Then  Mr.  Lane 
went  to  the  girls.  They  were  still  closely 
guarded.  "We  won't  need  you  any  more/'  he 
said  to  the  officials,  "  the  girls  are  going  with 
me."  The  matron  and  policemen  were  as- 
tounded. Surely  Mr.  Lane  didn't  know  what 
dangerous  characters  he  dealt  with.  Their  ap- 
prehension changed  to  horror  as  he  continued, 
turning  to  the  girls:  "Is  there  a  taxi  stand 
near?  We  will  need  a  cab  to  go  to  the  station." 
Three  pairs  of  eyes  looked  at  him  squarely. 
"  Sure,  sir,  we  know  where  to  get  one,"  and  they 
were  off.  In  leisurely  manner,  with  smiling 
good-bys,  amidst  gaping  officials,  Mr.  Lane  made 
his  departure.  At  the  street  corner  in  quiet 
dignity  stood  the  three  girls  with  the  taxi.  At 
the  station  weeping  relatives  met  the  little  group. 
"  May  we  say  good-by  to  our  mothers?  "  asked 
the  trio.  "  Certainly,"  was  Mr.  Lane's  prompt 
answer.     "Take  your  mothers  in  the  waiting- 

234 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

room,  but  fifteen  minutes  before  train  time  meet 
me  on  the  station  platform."  At  the  api)ointed 
hour  the  three  weeping  maidens  appeared.  They 
were  desperately  unhappy ;  they  did  n't  w^ant  to 
go  to  a  strange  institution,  but  they  had  been 
trusted  and  they  kept  their  trust. 

The  citizens  of  the  Little  Commonw^ealth  are 
those  whom  society  has  dubbed  "  misfits."  They 
are  not  a  picked  brand,  unless  choosing  the  hard- 
est to  control  means  a  choice  of  the  best.  But 
where  they  come  from  or  what  their  crimes  these 
things  are  forgotten  —  the  interest  centers  in 
what  the  children  are. 

HOME   LIFE 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  one  about  the  Com- 
monwealth is  its  hominess.  Many  institutions 
have  cottages,  but  not  many  are  homelike.  The 
Commonwealth  cottages  have  all  the  earmarks. 
It  was  evident  boys  had  sprawled  in  chairs  and 
tramped  about  on  the  rugs.  The  fireplaces  were 
black  with  usage;  the  books  battered  with  han- 
dling, the  graphaphone  continually  emitted  a 
cheery  sound,  family  life  oozed  from  every  corner 
of  the  buildings. 

Two   things   created   this   home   atmosphere. 

235 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

One,  the  children  owned  the  place.  There  was 
no  routine  or  system,  beyond  that  of  the  well- 
regulated  family  and  there  were  big  and  little 
children  and  both  sexes  in  every  cottage. 

The  average  cottage  institution  herds  ten  to 
twenty  boys  all  of  the  same  age  in  one  building. 
Triplets  is  the  utmost  a  normal  family  can  man- 
age. Even  a  cottage  cannot  make  twenty  boys, 
all  fourteen,  a  natural  family.  There  must  be 
the  big  and  the  little,  the  girl  and  the  boy,  to 
create  the  relation  of  give  and  take,  care  and  con- 
sideration that  exists  in  home  life. 

The  Little  Commonwealth  has  met  the  need 
for  tiny  children,  by  adopting  eight  orphans  all 
under  seven,  the  youngest  a  baby  of  six  months. 
These  little  creatures  awaken  the  latent  love  of 
the  old  boys  and  girls.  They  satisfy  the  ache  of 
the  hungry  heart.  Babies  are  in  demand  in 
every  cottage.  It  is  a  joyous  sight  when  you 
step  into  the  dining-room  for  dinner  to  see  a 
cooing,  friendly,  curly-headed  baby  playing  in 
its  clothes  basket.  Not  a  boy  or  girl  passes  the 
baby  without  some  term  of  endearment.  These 
little  creatures  thrive  on  the  love  of  their  older 
brothers  and  sisters,  but  they  are  not  spoiled. 
Their  destiny  is  presided  over  by  Mrs.  Lane  who 

236 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

brings  them  up  Montessori  fashion.  Moreover, 
each  cottage  has  a  grown  up,  who  acts  as  house 
father  or  mother.  These  babies  as  soon  as  they 
can  walk,  like  the  other  citizens,  care  for  them- 
selves. They  have  their  tiny  gardens  and  their 
daily  tasks.  Late  one  afternoon  hearing  gurgles 
and  chuckles  issuing  from  the  bathroom  in  my 
cottage  I  entered.  Some  three-  and  four-year-old 
kiddies,  unaided,  w^ere  taking  their  bath.  Quite 
unconscious  of  me,  they  continued  their  opera- 
tions. When  it  came  time  to  dress  there  was  a 
hunt  for  clothes.  The  clothes  w^ere  in  a  big  cup- 
board. A  small  man  of  four  could  not  find  satis- 
factory garments.  A  glorified,  naked  little  Eve 
of  three  undertook  to  assist.  She  got  down  on 
her  hands  and  knees  and  crept  into  the  cupboard. 
Meanwhile  Stanley  poised  on  two  sturdy  legs 
observed  proceedings.  Presently,  Eve  emerged 
triumphant  with  shirt  and  trousers  that  matched. 
I  offered  my  services  to  Stanley  but  he  was  much 
more  expert  than  I  in  arranging  his  garments, 
and  Eve  was  far  too  capable  to  need  any  assist- 
ance. 

Into  such  an  atmosphere  of  hominess,  kindli- 
ness, cheer,  and  love  do  the  children  come.     Such 

237 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

faith  have  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lane  in  the  innate  good- 
ness of  children  and  that  environment  can  work 
wonders  that  their  own  children,  a  boy  of  eight, 
two  little  girls,  and  a  boy  of  sixteen  are  members 
of  the  community.  Like  the  others,  they  are 
citizens.  They  have  no  privileges  but  share 
equally  in  the  work  and  the  play. 

ECONOMIC   INDEPENDENCE 

Next  to  the  hominess,  the  most  striking  feature 
of  the  Commonwealth  is  the  ability  of  the  citizens. 
They  are  self-reliant,  self-respecting,  and  full  of 
initiative.  They  don't  ask  for  help,  they  do 
things  themselves.  This  comes  from  economic 
independence.  For  each  citizen  earns  his  own 
living.  As  soon  as  he  or  she  arrives  the  first  task 
is  to  secure  employment.  There  is  the  carpentry 
work,  the  building  of  houses,  equipment,  repairs, 
plumbing,  the  farming,  the  planting  and  raising 
of  vegetables,  the  care  of  the  cattle,  all  these 
things  are  done  by  the  boys.  The  housework,  the 
cooking,  cleaning,  sewing,  laundry  work,  care  of 
the  children,  the  keeping  accounts,  buying  house- 
hold supplies,  making  both  ends  meet,  the  run- 
ning of  the  community  store,  these  are  the  tasks 

238 


The  citizens  build  the   commonwealth  cottages 

at  work 


a  former  judge 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

of  the  girls.  The  great  novelty  of  it  all  is,  that 
the  citizens  not  only  do  the  work,  but  conceive 
and  plan  it  as  well. 

For  all  labor  each  child  receives  the  current 
local  rate  of  wages  of  from  6  to  7  cents  an  hour. 
The  payment  is  made  in  token  money,  but  when 
a  citizen  graduates,  his  savings  are  redeemed 
in  regular  currency.  All  departments  are  con- 
ducted on  a  strictly  business  basis.  The  citizen 
has  the  same  problems  to  meet  that  confront  him 
in  the  outside  world.  If  he  does  n't  give  satis- 
faction he  is  discharged  and  must  secure  other 
employment. 

The  position  of  shopkeeper  is  in  great  demand. 
It  may  be  held  by  a  boy  or  girl.  In  the  store  are 
all  needed  supplies  from  food  to  clothing.  A 
small  girl  was  storekeeper  during  my  visit.  Ex- 
cept for  the  size  of  the  jjroprietor,  it  might  have 
been  the  shop  of  a  thrifty  French  woman.  There 
was  an  air  of  cheer,  cleanliness,  and  compact- 
ness about  it.  The  account  books  were  beauti- 
fully neat.  The  cash  register  gathered  in  the 
aluminum  money.  This  small  person  would  have 
no  difficulty  in  securing  a  similar  position  in  the 
w^orld  at  large. 

Out  of  their  earnings  the  children  pay  for 

241 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

room,  board,  clothing,  and  every  necessity  and 
pleasure.  There  is  no  restriction  on  color,  shape, 
or  value  of  clothing.  Yon  may  wear  what  you 
please  provided  you  can  afford  it.  There  is  equal 
latitude  in  the  matter  of  accommodations.  If 
dissatisfied  with  board  in  one  cottage  a  citizen 
may  move  to  another,  if  there  is  room.  This  is 
good  for  the  housekeepers.  It  keeps  up  a  stand- 
ard. One  day  at  lunch  the  cake  was  heavy. 
Criticisms  came  thick  and  fast.  It  was  evident 
the  baking  must  improve,  or  the  housekeeper  lose 
her  position,  or  her  boarders. 

The  inevitable  question  of  course  is,  are  there 
no  laggards?  The  answer  is,  that  constructive 
work  that  is  paid  for  reduces  that  problem  to  a 
minimum.  But  once  there  was  a  little  boy  who 
rebelled.  He  flatly  refused  to  lift  his  hand  in  any 
kind  of  labor.  Day  by  day  he  grew  more  ragged 
and  dirty.  He  was  fed  on  the  community  leav- 
ings. At  last  his  appearance  became  a  disgrace 
and  the  citizens  held  a  meeting.  It  was  decided 
to  tax  each  member  and  buy  the  boy  a  suit  of 
clothes.  One  night  the  disreputable  coat  and 
trousers  w^ere  burned  and  new  ones  left  in  their 
place.  In  the  morning  the  small  lad  had  no  al- 
ternative but  to  wear  what  he  found.     Those 

242 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

clothes  were  like  a  red-hot  brand  in  the  flesh. 
Each  citizen  made  a  tour  of  inspection.  They 
had  paid  for  the  clothes  and  felt  they  had  a  right 
to  inspect.  He  saw  he  was  a  pauper  and  a  de- 
pendent. The  disgrace  ate  into  the  boy's  soul. 
In  a  day  he  was  hard  at  work.  The  first  money 
earned  went  to  reimburse  the  community  for  his 
new  suit.  To-day  there  are  rarely  shirkers.  The 
community  resents  being  taxed  to  support  a  de- 
linquent. Public  disapprobation  is  the  greatest 
punishment  young  shoulders  can  endure. 

In  such  fashion  are  the  problems  worked  out. 

SELF-GOVERNMENT 

Do  not  imagine  the  citizens  are  perfect.  These 
children,  like  others,  have  their  fits  of  passion, 
their  tantrums,  their  days  of  bad  behavior.  But 
they  are  given  the  opportunity  to  learn  self-con- 
trol through  experience.  It  is  a  self-governing 
community.  From  the  first,  the  children  have 
done  their  own  thinking,  made  their  own  laws, 
and  maintained  discipline.  When  the  Common- 
wealth started  the  children  assembled  to  draw  up 
the  laws.  Mr.  Lane  saw  that  all  looked  to  him 
for  guidance.  They  voted  as  he  voted.  He  de- 
termined to  teach  them  a  lesson.     Deliberately 

243 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

he  voted  wrong  on  every  question.  The  citizens 
followed  suit.  Soon  they  were  in  a  frightful 
muddle.  The  leaders  were  in  despair.  They 
went  to  Mr.  Lane  in  desperation.  "  Self-govern- 
ment won't  work/'  they  declared.  Mr.  Lane 
looked  at  them  quietly.  "  The  trouble  is  n't  with 
self-government,  but  with  you,"  he  said.  Then 
he  told  them  what  he  had  done  and  why,  and 
ended  with  — "  Now  go  back,  make  your  own 
laws,  do  your  own  thinking,  never  depend  on  any 
one  else."  They  went  back.  This  time  in  a  new 
spirit.  Soon  they  had  evolved  w^ise  rules  of  con- 
duct. Children's  laws  suited  to  children's  needs, 
not  adult  laws  superimposed  on  children.  That 
is  the  keynote  —  the  great  difference  between  the 
Commonwealth  and  all  other  junior  republics. 
Other  republics  have  adopted  the  bad  as  well  as 
the  good  in  society's  laws.  They  have  copied  the 
grown-up  system  of  revenge,  punishment,  and 
jails,  and  the  attempt  to  create  good  behavior  by 
fear.  Not  so  the  Commonwealth;  its  laws  are 
the  result  of  experience  and  have  been  worked  out 
by  trial  and  error.  Mr.  Lane  has  let  his  citizens 
go  down  a  blind  alley,  find  their  mistakes,  and 
return  to  the  trail.  As  an  example,  one  day 
when  Mr.  Lane  started  for  the  city,  the  boys  asked 

244 


KEFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

to  make  a  bonfire.  "  Certainly/'  said  Mr.  Lane, 
^^onlj  be  careful  to  do  no  damage.'^  It  was  a 
gray  day,  and  the  wood  was  damp.  The  fire  was 
a  failure.  The  disappointment  was  keen.  Then 
a  bright  boy  spoke  up :  "  I  know  how  to  make 
it  burn;  put  on  some  gasoline.^'  Down  to  the 
garage  they  trooped,  and  a  bucket  of  gasoline  was 
poured  on  the  wood.  It  proved  a  huge  success. 
Great  was  the  delight.  Bucket  after  bucket  of 
gasoline  disappeared  in  the  flames.  That  night 
when  Mr.  Lane  returned  he  asked :  "  Did  you 
have  a  good  bonfire?  ''  "  Great/'  was  the  answer 
in  chorus.  "  How  did  you  manage  it?  "  asked 
Mr.  Lane.  "The  wood  was  wet?"  These  chil- 
dren know  no  fear.  There  is  no  need  for  decep- 
tion. Promptly  they  poured  forth  the  story  of 
the  gasoline.  Mr.  Lane  listened  attentively. 
"  Yes/'  he  said,  "  gasoline  makes  a  fine  fire,  but 
an  expensive  one."  Bit  by  bit  he  worked  out  the 
amount  used,  the  price  per  bucket,  what  it  would 
cost  each  boy.  Moment  by  moment  the  faces 
grew  more  dejected.  The  lads  saw  the  savings 
of  months  vanishing.  Then  Mr.  Lane  ended 
with :  "  I  want  you  boys  to  feel  the  place  and 
everything  on  it  is  yours,  but  of  course  you  must 
pay  for  what  you  use."     That  principle  was  al- 

245 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

ready  citizen  law.  Its  justice  was  recognized. 
The  boys  accepted  their  fate  without  question  and 
wrote  this  addition  in  the  Statute  Book.  "  If 
you  use  what  you  haven't  paid  for,  you  must 
make  restitution  with  interest."  They  had 
learned  a  never  to  be  forgotten  lesson.  No  more 
gasoline  was  ever  uselessly  expended.  The 
citizens'  laws  secure  reformation  by  education 
rather  than  punishment. 

But  sometimes  there  is  need  of  discipline. 
When  there  is,  it  is  administered  by  the  children 
through  their  court.  Every  Friday  night  court 
is  held.  In  these  proceedings  the  whole  com- 
munity takes  part.  Any  one  may  give  testimony. 
There  is  simplicity  in  the  procedure,  lacking  in  an 
ordinary  court.  It  results  in  greater  justice. 
Frequently  the  judge  is  a  girl.  This  has  come 
about  naturally.  It  was  discovered  that  girls 
make  better  judges  than  boys  because  more 
original.  The  verdict  is,  "  Girls  think  up  things 
to  do  to  you  and  boys  only  fine."  The  first  girl 
chosen  objected.  She  said  it  was  not  the  place 
for  a  woman.  But  the  community  knew  better. 
They  had  listened  to  her  wise  remarks  as  a  wit- 
ness and  they  insisted.  Her  success  was  instan- 
taneous.    From  that  day  the  girls  have  made  the 

246 


REFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

most  popular  judges.  A  small  girl  of  fourteen 
acted  as  judge  on  the  Friday  night  of  my  visit. 
Black-gowned  judges  would  not  have  recognized 
the  proceedings.  The  court  was  bound  by  no 
precedents.  It  was  based  on  justice  and  common 
sense.  A  girl  named  Connie,  aged  fifteen,  al- 
most a  w^oman  in  appearance,  w^as  brought  be- 
fore the  court  on  the  charge  of  swearing.  After 
the  indictment,  there  was  a  pause,  then  the  Judge 
said :  "  How  can  I  be  sure  what  you  said  was 
swearing?''  "Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  was?" 
volunteered  Connie.  "  No,"  said  the  Judge  hur- 
riedly. "  Some  children  may  never  have  heard 
the  words."  Then  after  a  moment  of  deep  re- 
flection and  w^ith  utmost  gravity :  "  I  will  aj)- 
point  a  committee  of  experts  on  swearing  to  hear 
you."  Solemnly  the  two  experts  on  swearing  re- 
tired to  listen  to  Connie.  Gravely  they  returned 
and  declared  her  language  unfit  for  polite  so- 
ciety. Again  the  Judge  paused,  then  passed  sen- 
tence. 

"  Connie,  you  must  have  your  mouth  w^ashed 
with  soap.  You  take  care  of  the  little  children, 
and  it 's  bad  of  you  to  swear." 

But  from  all  parts  of  the  room  came  murmurs 
and  protests.     It  w^as  evident  the  verdict  was  not 

247 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

satisfactory.  These  citizens  did  not  hesitate  to 
criticize  the  bench.  "What's  the  matter?"  in- 
quired the  Judge.  Outflowed  the  following  ob- 
jections : 

"  We  don't  think  the  punishment  a  good  one. 
Connie  's  too  big  to  have  her  mouth  washed  out. 
It  would  take  four  of  us  to  do  it.  It  would  n't 
be  dignifled.  It  was  all  right  in  the  early  days 
of  the  Commonwealth,  but  we  have  passed  that 
stage." 

The  Judge  listened  reflectively.  She  had  no 
arrogance  or  false  pride.  "  You  're  right,"  she 
admitted;  "I'll  change  my  sentence.  Connie 
must  stay  in  close  bounds  for  three  days." 
( Keep  within  the  courtyard. ) 

In  such  fashion  is  justice  administered.  So 
simply,  sweetly,  fairly,  and  impersonally  that 
the  delinquent  accepts  his  fate  without  murmur 
and  bears  no  ill-will. 

When  the  trial  was  over  Connie  came  to  me  to 
whisper,  "  I  only  swear  in  my  own  room,  never 
before  the  babies."  I  didn't  need  to  look  into 
her  honest  blue  eves  to  know  this  was  so. 
Through  her  love  for  the  little  ones  she  was  learn- 
ing self-control.  Fear  had  not  purified  her  lips, 
but  love  was  purifying  both  heart  and  lips. 

248 


KEFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

One  great  feature  of  the  Commouwealth  is  its 
absolute  democracy.  It  is  truly  a  government 
by  all,  for  all.  Tlie  Judge  of  Friday  niglit  may 
Saturday  morning  be  working  under  and  taking 
orders  from  the  delinquent  she  sentenced  the  day 
before.  No  one  holds  an  elevated  position.  If 
there  are  complaints  against  Mr.  Lane  they  are 
brought  before  the  court.  When  the  Earl  of 
Sandwich  visits  he  too  becomes  a  citizen.  There 
are  no  distinctions,  all  are  treated  alike.  While 
the  citizens  do  not  bow  or  curtsey  and  have  no 
formal  good  manners,  they  have  acquired  some- 
thing infinitely  greater,  good  breeding. 

COEDUCATION 

One  important  phase  of  the  Commonwealth  not 
yet  touched  on  is  coeducation.  This  experiment 
was  roundly  denounced  and  opposed.  It  was 
declared  impossible  to  bring  delinquent  boys  and 
girls  together  without  dire  results.  It  could  not 
be  done.  But  Mr.  Lane  insisted.  "  Only  when 
both  sexes  are  together  is  life  normal.  You  can't 
secure  the  family  spirit  without  it,'^  was  his  con- 
tention. Boys  and  girls,  men  and  women,  live 
together  in  society,  they  must  learn  to  do  so  in 
the  Commonwealth.     Especially  was  the  plan  es- 

249 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

sential,  Mr.  Lane  felt,  to  the  delinquent  girl. 
Girls  get  into  trouble  through  irregular  relations. 
How  teach  right  relations  and  behavior  except 
by  experience?  To  segregate  boys  and  girls  and 
then  suddenly  throw  them  together  and  expect 
good  behavior,  is  like  trying  to  teach  piano  play- 
ing without  a  piano.  This  truth  is  easy  to  see, 
but  most  of  us  have  not  the  courage  to  carry  it 
out.  Mr.  Lane  had.  Boys  and  girls  were  put 
together  in  a  cottage.  The  first  floor  was  made 
common  to  both.  On  the  second  the  building 
was  partitioned  in  the  middle,  on  one  side  live 
the  girls  —  on  the  other  the  boys.  The  citizens 
on  their  own  initiative  enacted  the  law  that  boys 
and  girls  should  never  trespass  in  each  other's 
quarters.  From  the  beginning  Mr.  Lane  says 
there  has  been  no  sex  problem.  The  checks  and 
balances  of  normal  life  have  created  friendlv, 
natural  and  wholesome  relations. 

Life  in  the  Commonw^ealth  is  free  and  open, 
no  one  can  be  secretive.  This  does  not  mean  that 
a  particular  girl  has  not  cared  for  a  particular 
boy.  That  has  happened,  but  the  romantic 
glamour  has  not  lasted.  Mary,  adoring  John, 
asks  to  sit  next  him  at  table.  Now  John  un- 
fortunately has   atrocious  table  manners.     He 

250 


EEFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

gobbles  his  food  and  guzzles  his  soup  and  makes  a 
fearful  noise.  In  a  few  days  the  dream  John 
vanishes.  But  with  the  departing  thrill  Mary- 
learns  a  real  lesson.  She  finds  John,  in  spite  of 
his  manners,  is  honest  and  generous.  A  new 
value  arises.  These  boys  and  girls  learn  to  know 
one  another  with  all  their  faults  and  all  their 
virtues.  If  anything  beyond  friendship  ever  does 
develop,  it  will  be  love  based  on  knowledge. 
What  could  be  better?  One  hindrance  to  ro- 
mance in  youth,  is  that  girls  at  maturity  are 
much  older  than  boys  of  the  same  age.  Invari- 
ably the  attitude  of  the  older  girls  in  the  Com- 
monwealth to  the  boys  has  been  that  of  Big  Sis- 
ters. So  even  with  this  vexing  problem  the 
Commonwealth  has  succeeded.  Behavior  is  not 
always  perfect,  but  the  surprising  thing  is  that 
the  delinquent  boy  and  girl  in  the  Little  Com- 
monwealth are  turning  out  as  well  or  better  than 
the  average  boy  or  girl  of  society. 

RESULTS 

It  is  the  graduates  that  have  clinched  the  suc- 
cess of  the  Commonwealth.  In  all  other  reforma- 
tories, even  the  best,  the  authorities  feel  that  if  a 
large  per  cent,  of  their  children  keep  from  crime, 

251 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

"  make  good,"  they  have  succeeded.  Not  so  the 
Commonwealth.  It  expects  more  than  mere 
making  good.  Its  citizens  have  learned  how  to 
work,  how  to  play,  how  to  love.  They  have 
learned  self-control.  They  are  good  not  only  un- 
der orders,  but  in  the  free  open  world.  They  are 
expected  to  compete  with  and  equal  or  surpass 
their  fellows  in  society.  Reports  from  all  quar- 
ters show  that  they  do.  The  Commonwealth  is 
producing  a  superior  brand.  It  is  turning  out 
the  best  cooks,  the  best  soldiers,  the  best  car- 
penters, the  most  capable  citizens.  A  lieuten- 
ant at  the  front  writes :  "  The  boys  of  the  Com- 
monwealth are  my  best  soldiers.  They  are  effi- 
cient and  thorough.'^ 

Said  Lord  Lytton  one  day,  while  talking  about 
the  citizens :  "  My  only  difficulty  is  to  know 
what  to  do  with  the  children,  when  they  gradu- 
ate. They  are  so  fine  it  is  difficult  to  find  places 
good  enough  for  them.''  And  this  was  said  of 
little  waifs,  strays,  and  pickpockets,  gathered  up 
from  the  streets  of  London. 

WHAT   WOMEN   CAN  DO 

If  the  Commonwealth  can  produce  such  re- 
sults let  us  steal  its  secret  and  multiply  those 

252 


KEFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

results  throughout  the  United  States.  It  is  for 
the  women  to  do  this.  Long  ago  there  would 
have  been  many  reformatories  that  reform  if  the 
mother  half  of  the  human  race  had  had  her  hand 
in  their  shaping.  I  say  advisedly  the  mother 
half,  for  women  have  been  engaged  in  the  work. 
But  too  often  these  women  have  been  trained  in 
man-made  schools.  In  these  schools  the  habits, 
customs,  and  systems  of  men  have  been  superim- 
posed on  women.  They  have  been  taught  to  act 
according  to  routine,  to  be  impersonal  and  ab- 
stract. The  humanness,  mother  love,  mother- 
craft,  has  been  crushed  out.  Only  in  a  few  in- 
stances where  men  like  Mr.  Lane  or  Thomas  Mott 
Osborne  have  arisen,  has  the  spirit  of  mother- 
hood survived,  and  because  these  men  possessed 
the  woman's  as  well  as  the  man's  point  of  view, 
the  world  has  dubbed  them  sentimentalists. 
But  that  mother  point  of  view  is  important.  It 
must  not  be  crushed  out.  Women  have  n't  spent 
generations  in  the  nursery  for  naught.  They 
have  treasures  to  give  as  great  as  man's.  Every 
honest  man  knows  it.  He  rejoices  in  a  co-worker 
when  she  expresses  herself,  her  womanhood,  in 
her  work,  and  is  not  a  poor  imitation  of  him. 
Whether  it  be  in  law,  medicine,  politics,  reform- 

253 


SOCIETY'S  MISFITS 

atories,  or  tlie  home,  woman  is  needed,  needed 
because  she  is  different  from  man.  That  is  the 
great  reason  for  suffrage.  The  home  is  pointed 
to  as  the  best  that  society  has  to  offer.  If  it  is, 
it  is  because  it  is  the  joint  expression  of  man  and 
woman. 

If  children  are  taken  out  of  the  homes,  women 
must  follow  them  into  the  institutions  and  ex- 
press their  mothercraft  there.  Let  man  and 
woman  work  shoulder  to  shoulder.  Let  him 
build  his  buildings,  instal  his  new  plumbing,  in- 
vent his  labor-saving  laundry  machine,  but  when 
he  attempts  to  raise  children  by  the  same  busi- 
ness methods  and  make  them  merely  cogs  in  a 
machine,  it  is  time  woman  stepped  in.  She 
knows  that  girls  are  not  taught  cooking  by  steam- 
ing masses  of  food  in  unwieldy  vats.  That  boys 
are  not  taught  honesty  and  courage  by  a  system 
of  silence  and  suppression.  It  is  for  her  to  see 
that  no  child  goes  unkissed  or  untucked  to  bed. 
That  the  spirit,  as  well  as  the  body,  is  cared  for, 
for  only  the  kernel  nourishes.  She  must  go 
hammering  at  the  doors  of  even  the  best  institu- 
tions, and  demand  that  the  spiritual  beauty  be 
made  to  coordinate  with  the  outer  perfection.  If 
the  institutions  bound  by  a  system  of  routine  and 

254 


KEFORMATORY  THAT  REFORMS 

red  tape  refuse  her  admittance,  there  are  other 
ways  of  winning  the  battle.  Let  men  and 
women  form  small  committees,  rent  a  cottage, 
create  a  diminutive  Commonwealth,  and  show  to 
their  city  and  State  what  can  be  done,  when  man 
with  his  strength  and  woman  with  her  mother- 
craft  combine  to  make  a  reformatory  that  re- 
forms. Not  long  will  the  old  institutions  with- 
stand such  an  attack.  Their  doors  will  soon  sag 
on  their  hinges,  their  corridors  be  empty,  for  no 
judge  or  jury  or  public  will  consent  to  consign 
a  child  to  their  soul-warping  halls. 

My  call  then  is  to  women,  for  the  men  will 
readily  follow.  Remember  the  world's  children 
are  your  children.  Your  mothercraft  belongs  to 
each  tiny  soul  that  with  outstretched  baby  hands 
pleads  to  you  for  protection. 


THE  END 


255 


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